by David James
My wife, Sheila, inadvertently clicked my e-mail address, too, when she sent her reply back to him and I read her poet friend's message that her love opened the window of his heart and she replied that his words were knocks that opened the door to her being, then I stood up, went over, closed my office door, went back to my desk, called and told her I read the email and there was only the sound of the click as she cut short the call...but at least she didn't lie.
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The door open in winter is drafty. In summer it loses the cool. *
She'll regret that poet before it's over.*
Damn the poets anyway.
Ouch.
This is great. I love how corny the exchanged notes are. Says a lot about both of them. Also? The fact that he goes and closes the door before calling her. That is a stroke of subtle brilliance, because how much subtext can we glean from that? Really good, David. *
Wooo. "At least she didn't lie." *****
Packs a punch.*
The punchline. ***
Great sentence loaded with emotion left unsaid. Well done, David. *
David, this one builds with intensity and has that KAPOW at the end. Love the brevity of such intensely carved moments in a character's life. Nice use of the "white space," also! *
I wonder if her poet friend was a descendant of Keats. Anyway, both sad and chilling and very well-done. "*"
Whoops! Shit! Good one David! Great pacing and build up! *
*Delicious.