Cathy talks too much. That's all I can think when I'm with her. She just keeps going on and on about the most inane subject -- the weather, her work, her car, her cat. I'm never interested in what she has to say, and I never know how to make her shut up. It's terrible.
But when we're apart, I miss her like there's a flame burning a hole through my heart. I think of her eyes, her hair, her breasts in those snug sweater tops. I think of the day we met in the book store, both going for the last copy of The Grapes of Wrath. I think of how much fun she used to be.
And that's why I keep seeing her again.
No comments:
Post a Comment