Morning Light
In the dark morning kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee, I hear her voice, the quiet, tired hello. I turn to the table and at first all I see is a shape, but eventually she comes in to focus, elbows on the table, tea mug against her right cheek, the glow of the streetlight above her head. How could I have walked by and not seen this woman whom I’ve spent more than half my life with? I tell myself it is the darkness, the lack of sleep, and the need for caffeine, but even I don’t believe that.
I like the concept, the characters, and the tone of this piece. I only have one critique, if I may, and that’s the length of each sentence. I believe the story would be more effective with some variation in the length and structure of the sentences. That said, the piece is lovely either way.