100 Words for 5-1-07

She came at me from the sugar as I stirred it into the pitcher of kool-aide. She assulted me with her memory.

We had matching coffee cups once, and we stirred our sugar into our drinks with soup spoons.

I know where she is now, and will be forever after. I wonder where our cups are now, and our spoons. Perhaps someone else is using them, or perhaps the cups have been shattered.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Broken ceramic chips turned underneath landfill dirt.

Then she retreats, her memory dissolving like the sugar into the water.

Goodbye, again.