Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Sundays Used To Be Her Favorite Day of The Week

He grabbed her hand in the backyard, and pulled her alongside of him, running towards the cornfields. He never questioned her perpetual lack of shoes and he always felt a sense of pride watching her run around in her Sunday's Best out of the corner of his eye. They reached a ditch and collapsed in laughter, trying to catch their breath. But did they really ever want to? He showed her the bridge he made when he was younger. "Take my hand", he said.

Trusting him was like breathing; completely involuntary.

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