I refused to miss him.
Okay, maybe the first night during the initial shock of his abrupt exit from my life. Maybe I missed him then. And it felt strange the following Friday when he did not meet me with kisses at the shed's door. Yes, I'll admit to those limited cases of longing. Sure. Those. But at least then, I would have pruned my own tree’s branches with a dull spoon before I would have even whispered to the clouds above that a sinkhole had formed somewhere inside me.
It was small at first, hardly more than a shadowy thought creeping into my otherwise happy-go-lucky nature. I chalked it up to boredom. I alternately huffed and sighed my way around the radius my tree allowed, determinedly looking for amusements. All except one particular sort....
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