Daily Prompt: Sad But True

 

You know what’s more bitter than cold, black coffee from a Styrofoam cup on a nothing-to-do Saturday morning? It’s the sound of his laughter. Listening to it is like biting into a fold of tin foil. In case if you are wondering, this laughing guy is my boyfriend. And in case if you were still wondering, he was laughing at me. I had just sent him an attachment inside an email of one of my short stories. Sure, it wasn’t the flowery language flowing off the tongue by some English 18th century poet, but it was still my baby. He read it, somewhat. He read the half of the first half of it. When I confided to him, “Hun, someday, I’d like to be a writer!” like a proud child with glazed eyes, the throaty laughter roared. I remember back to the sound that laughter. It still stings my ears and tickles my brain.

Although it re-plays itself inside my head, it reminds me that I don’t have to write well to write. I just need the joy that comes within myself by writing. Although I find that a baby step, it’s the first action towards success.

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