DEAR JOHN~a drabble
“I’m not good with art,” John says, squinting at the note.
I look down at the crisp white paper, the even black script.
“It’s not art.” I point to the three distinct words. How can he not see? “It says…”
He makes an impatient sound, a sound of finality. The world is suddenly blurry and I blink to clear my eyes.
“Sorry. You know I can’t find the meaning in this creative shit.” He scuffs out of the room, drops into his ergo-set and links into the feeds.
The words droop, the ink bleeding away. “It says ‘I love you’.”
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