Lost in Thought

She sat there all alone. Lost in thought. The day to herself was about to end. She left for work, but called in sick.

A Rose Dawson lost in the memories of Jack’s touch.

Funny how a few days of loving can fuel you for months, years even decades.

Interesting how the hopes of some dead man lying frozenly charming on the bottom of the Atlantic can live in her forever.

This is her playground. The corner table with the corn blue sofa. She could sit there all day and night.

Sometimes dozing off into sleep with her current read resting on her chest, hugging it like she would her baby, a content smile across her soft features.

If not she’d be drawing, writing, humming and singing along to the songs she knows the words to, knowing well the speakers are loud enough to hide her voice.

The owner would drop by her table, give her an extra serving of Macadamia nut cookies and they would both light up that dim corner with laughter and the twinkles in their eyes.

Her favorite has always been the house blend. She said it tasted like the coffee she used to sneak a sip or two from her grandfather’s mug when she was little.

I would love to have known her back then. I would love to have known her way before. Perhaps if I did, she would be mine instead of his.

photo by @tahaphoto Instagram.

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