PASSING FOR NORMAL

She crossed the road in the afternoon
It was about the little things now. The little treasures. The little moments. Her memory of him is not that of a lifetime but a second in time. She knew she remembered how his skin tasted more than she did his name or his address.
She crossed the road to get some cherries
Cherries in the winter. The little things. She did not summon joy when she thought of places she has been to, dances she danced or all the kisses in the world. She remembered home, still tasted the cherries, still craved the feeling of peace and sadness and stillness in his arms for moments, for seconds.
She crossed the road to get some coffee beans and magazines
The lush burgundy mat that hugged her ankles after a warm bath in the winter, the smell of wet leaves and cinnamon in her tea, his smile, all the little things … His voice. His voice that came across the night, across the times, uninvited, uninterrupted, alarming …

She had a new hair color, a new air to her... She took softer steps and crossed the road ...

She crossed the road to get some cigarettes.

She sat in her chair and thought of the little things... It was quiet, she could hear some laughs in the distance, her phone ringing ... she closed her eyes ... and she thought of him ...