Titles

"You care more for your damn science books than for me."

After one too many missed engagements, forgotten dates and absent meals, she'd left. Flung the last-ditch effort bouquet in his face and slammed the door.

"Heartless," she'd said.

Tin Man carefully repaired a torn photograph with pianist's fingers. Laid it in a box beside crumpled reciepts, a ticket from a bus ride together, a Time article she'd pulled out for his interest. Packed the box alongside socks and shirts, then zipped the bag closed.

Lied to himself that it was easier this way.

End