I hold a single rose between stiff and cold fingers. You close your eyes and remember a time when those fingers--alive and warm--caressed you, and ran...themselves through your hair.The pleats of my grey pants are sharp, as are the creases of the pant legs that hide my thin and shapely calves. Not so hidden are my feet--unencumbered by shoes, but clad in the sheer, nude stockings I so loved in life. My shoes, sensible though they may have been, are nestled within the folds of satin beside. It’s OK. Really. After watching me doing all that dirty stuff with all of those strange men it would be kind of hypocritical of me to be upset with you.”“About that….” I had suddenly kicked into lecture mode but my daughter quickly put an end to that when she pulled her t-shirt up over her head.“How about we talk about that in the morning Daddy. It’s kind of late and I think we should both have some time to think about what we want to say. OK?” my mind which was once full of things to say. More

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