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08 Apr

She:   He must be someone from the past.  Think.  Think, dammit.  Why can’t I remember who he is?  There is something about his face that is just so familiar.  Maybe it’s just one of those faces that you see everywhere and you automatically believe you have met that person before.  No, it’s not that.  Something in those blue eyes and that kind smile say he must be more than a casual encounter at a ticket booth or a passing glance in the Starbucks line.  Let me concentrate harder.  Perhaps if we touch?

He:  She reached out and lightly patted my hand.  Was she struggling to remember something of our 40 years together or just needing to feel that something or someone could be real in her world?  It had all started in such an innocuously  devious,  slight-of-hand manner, lost keys and misplaced pocketbooks.  Standing at the door, not knowing to come or to go.   Now this.  “I’m here” I shout in a whisper,  “I have been and always will be, here.”

Them:  How could one not believe in soul mates?

The Plot Thickens, Thursday:
(1) someone from the past, and (2) a ticket

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Posted by on April 8, 2010 in Alzheimers, Quick Fiction

 

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