Focus

“Wow, tell me what it’s like,” she prodded, poking him in the ribs.

He snuck a glance at her and smirked, “What?”

“To sit here day after day, sipping on pints full of terrible decisions, with the best one you never made … sitting right in front of you,” she cheered raising her glass to an empathetic toast between two wayward souls.

“You know it best, honey. I’m hurting,” he pouted, hanging his head as he blushed.

Reaching out her hand, she caressed his arm, “I know it’s hell in your mind. I’m sorry.” Flipping it around flirtatiously, she pushed it away, “I must say though, I admire your focus. I had that once.”

“Focus on what?”

Straightening her back and pointing outside, she answered, “This laser-like focus on all that is wrong; so intent on seeing the bad that you can’t see all that is beautiful, or a way out.”

“Oh, I’m not that focused sweetie,” he grunted with a chuckle.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I can see you, sitting right here next to me.”

3 Comments Add yours

  1. Rob says:

    I loved this. Nice share

      1. Rob says:

        you are welcome!

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