368 Days

368 Days

She’d been thinking about him a lot lately.  He kept coming back, again and again. She thought of him in the morning, when the air was crisp and smelled like fall.  She thought of the long drive through painted mountains, the smell of cinnamon in small coffee shops, and the plans for forever and a day.  She thought of him at 3:30 on Saturdays, when his team took the field, and every time she found a project on Pinterest that required more than stitches and glue.  When it started, she thought she missed the mountains.  And then it had been the feeling.  But now—now, she was pretty sure she just missed him.

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About Nicole Fuhrman

I like run-ons. And as a former Language Arts teacher, I should be appalled. But I teach Science now, so it's ok. Oh, I also like to start sentences with conjunctions. NBD.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Relationships, Short Stories, Stories and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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