By P.S. Wright
Sophia slumped on the couch and twirled a thread from the blanket edge around her finger, wrapping it tighter and tighter. She felt her fingertip going numb and continued wrapping the thread up to the edge of the blanket, leaving her fingertip red and without feeling.
The whole time she thought of Bradley and his perfect imperfection—his crooked dimples, the stray hair glossing his forehead, how he always showed up twenty minutes late in his red Mustang and brush-kissed her forehead with an apology—and how unattached she felt. How she was drifting away—like a kite without a string.
Love the image of the blanket thread tethering her tighter and tighter as he drifts away. Lovely.
Thank you. And thanks for reading.
Nice example of how love can slip away without some real attachment. Liked it.
Thanks, Bobby and thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback.
love it – keep writing!
Thanks, Pam!
Well done!
Thanks, Jason!
Beautifully, smoothly flowing….
I want to hold her close to me.
There is a sinister element to this: will she allow her finger to die? But the content doesn’t have the gravity to suggest this will occur.