Olives

It’s been about 72 minutes since you left.  And I find myself unable to focus.  I’m consumed by thoughts of you. 

I stood up and leaned over my desk while reaching for a business card.  A black olive fell from my blouse and landed on my computer keyboard.  It was a little bit shriveled.  At first I thought it was a bug.  Then I thought it was a bug with no legs…a genetic deformity.  Finally I realized it was an olive.  It must have been from my lunch.  There were olives in my poorly designed lunch salad.  I don’t know why I even had olives in there in the first place.  It must have fallen from my fork.  It curled against me, close to my heart, so it wouldn’t be left behind.  Did you notice it falling?  Did you notice clinging to me with love?  Perhaps you were too nice to say anything.  It walked with us…back to the showroom…and laughed with us as we secretly watched videos of inappropriately young boys singing.  But it grew tired…too weak to cling to me…and fell from my blouse.  And as he lay dying on my computer keyboard I realized too late that I loved him too. 

He’s here with me now.

Dead.

It’s been 76 minutes since you left.  And I find myself unable to focus.  I’m consumed by thoughts of you.