Lost Love and a Father’s Gift
“You’re a regressive indiscriminate fatuous boob. That’s being nice,” I shouted. My ex, to say the least, is dumber than ravioli lying on a veranda in a Laundromat.
“What’d I do this time?” Steve looked at me with his woe begotten eyes and tried for apologetic. The chasm between his sincerity and a spaceport, immeasurable.
“My ocarina? Where is it?” I crossed my arms letting my right hip jut out in annoyance. My father bought the ocarina for my birthday, from Ferengi slime, while running from Klingons. “He risked his life for that stupid hunk of…”
“It plays beautiful music.” I couldn’t argue there, in Steve’s masterful hands against his lips, it sung.
“So you kept it?” My heart knew it was right. I could do little but make it cry.
“I will always cherish it, as I do our love.” He leaned forward, kissed me, and caressed my cheek.