The End of Summer

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‘Well, have a nice life!’1030540576_9e36e707d9  I say.

I’ve seen When Harry met Sally too many times.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he says.  ‘We’ll see each other before I leave.’ 

‘Yeah, you’ll have a leaving party.’ 

He chuckles.  ‘And a welcome party.’

‘Yeah…’  I feel a pang of jealousy towards his new flatmates.  ‘Well, it’s been really nice, living with you.’

For ‘really nice’, read ‘mental torture’.

‘You too.’

‘See ya.’  I turn to walk away.

He makes a sound as if about to speak.  I spin on my heel.

‘Is there something else to say?’

You couldn’t write this shit.

He hesitates, colouring slightly.  ‘If…’  

I’ve never seen him like this before: diffident, ill at ease.

‘…if you’re ever in my part of the world and need a place to stay, get in touch.’

‘Ditto.’  

CC Image courtesy of Greg McMullin on Flickr



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