Suddenly it bursts forth. Little bits of inspiration. Bits of mental images to fill in the blank spots that are the stories in progress in my mind, those stories half written, outlined or started and never finished. Little shorts. Little scenes that encapsulate the moment. Poetry, from an age long ago when everything was pure and hope stared me back in the eye every morning instead of leaving a note promising his return.
A Great Evening.
A noisy restaurant, but all the sound has faded away.
An empty wine glass.
A dark whiskey.
Napkins covering plates.
Deep, easy, conversation.
Her smile.
Ahhh...
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