December

I just published this short story on Smashwords:

"I was at the Lounge having my daily dose of coffee when he walked in. I didn't have to look to know it was him. I heard the laugh, and then as he drew nearer, took in his cologne. He uses Hugo Boss, and that musky scent is unique. I didn't look at him. I couldn't. He took the seat next to me and sighed. He then told his friends, "Guys, meet Leila." They looked at me, then him, then me again-and took the seats on the other side of the restaurant. I switched off my music player and put it inside my bag. Maxwell, looked as radiant as I recalled-only a little different. He was uncertain. We looked at each other, and then I smiled. He smiled at me and looked down at my hands. They were resting on the table. He reached for it. "That's a nice rock you have there," he said.

"I got it from a guy one Friday night."

"How did you get it?"

"He kissed me as he slipped it into my finger."

"How did that feel?"

"Hot and cold."

"So, what did you do?"

"I left him standing there and went home. I slept it off and woke up like nothing happened. I have never seen the Guy, or thought of answering his messages and calls."

"Why would you do that? Didn't you want the ring?"

"No."

"Did you love the guy?"

"No."

"Why did you kiss him then?"

"I kissed him, because he was the one."

"The One- as in what you women think is Mr. Right?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you leave him and ignore him all this time?"

"It felt right. It still does." 

How can one change the world if one identifies oneself with everybody?