I slipped your picture out of my left pocket, where I keep so many things. But today, only your picture, folded, soft. So I stared at it like I normally would, ran my thumb over your face, kissed your feet. Then. I looked again and saw how your face was turned, sadness filled me, shock and denial. Because I knew then what was happening. Your hands usually in their prayer position, now closed, the clouded halo you don, now only gray smoke, the cloak usually teal and gold, now just dim-lit cloth. That's when I knew. My heart would break later. The heart no one can save.
I have partially borrowed the title from the recent film, "The Pursuit of Happyness", I really loved the narration style, and how the film would stop when he'd describe parts of his life, such as: this is the part I call "running". Plus, the film and true story took place in lovely San Francisco, and that is where my husband and I were for 5 days and 4 nights. So. . . . .this is the part I call, getting off the plane, and how the F to we get to the city? A minor, but essential detail I failed to plan or even think of when booking the trip. Planning, something I just skipped so in turn, we were a little confused, a little lost, and because of it, it turned out our room was communal living. That is the part I will call, are you f''n serious? We were tired, we were hungry, and we'd been on 3-hr flight, and a quite speedy train for about 45 minutes, and the room which appeared modern spacious online, turned out to be a box, probably 10x12 feet if that. T...
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