I mourn as I try to hold the ragged fragments in my hands. They bleed through my fingers, falling softly and settling into a small, sad heap.
My heart is heavy as I make careful attempts at rescue. It is of no use. Try as I might, I cannot make it whole again; my feeble efforts only cause further damage.
I voice my anguish to an empty room. It was a great idea for a story, written on a napkin. Why didn’t I empty the pockets of my jeans before I threw them in the wash? Now it’s forever gone.
Julie about 5 years ago
Lovely drabble. I'm sure there are a few of us writers (not me, thankfully) who've done something like this.
Pearl (Bea) about 5 years ago
Thanks, Julie. Heh, I've washed numerous items due to not checking all the pockets. Drivers license, credit cards, receipts, lighters, watches - I even once washed and dried a usb flash drive that I use to back up all my books. Thank goodness it survived!
Tony Spencer about 5 years ago
I blame my wife, she washes anything that's not moving!
Bryan Thomas about 5 years ago