Artist?

I told him I loved him once, a lifetime ago. Would he remember?

He sat engrossed at the Dickensian desk, pen and jotter in hand.

I think he may have stopped writing, or for the briefest of moments, scratching of pencil against paper halted.

I often wonder if he’d heard me at all.

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One response to “Artist?

Put me out of my misery people!

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