Moving On

You spend your life chasing some dream, always running from something, from high school jerk-offs, psychopathic teachers, fucked up parents with fucked up ways; then one day you’re on the wrong bus to nowhere.

Her name is Marie, she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve seen, she serves you eggs every morning for two months before you have the balls to ask her out; you get that job at the bank — smiling at pissed customers all day through glass, a thirty year mortgage on a run down death trap, a promotion later, and suddenly she’s picking wedding dresses — how did that happen; suddenly you’re thinking fuck you world, you’ve made it.

And then she leaves, been fucking that blowhard from the garage for six months — she cries, she’s sorry, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’; she’s quit the diner, but you’re back, one last time over eggs, you stare at the camper you’ve just blown it all on, thinking fuck you world, it’s time to move on.

In response to: Three Line Tales, Week 80
Image by: Annie Theby via Unsplash


Many thanks to Sonya for organising Three Line Tales.

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15 thoughts on “Moving On

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