It hit me the day I realized I only needed one remote.
I sat in my chair and looked at the lamp by the fireplace; at the throw I didn't buy drifting off the back of the sofa. I'd tossed my change into pot on my dresser that was probably worth a year's salary. The pot, not the dresser.
Little pieces of Daniel throughout my house. Nothing huge, at least not to anyone but me. Just stuff. Daniel's stuff had drifted into my house like he'd drifted into my soul.
That's where my National Geographics were.
Little pieces of me.
|Summary:||Jack realizes something.|
Author's Chapter Notes:
I blame Devra. If it weren't for her, I'd still be subjecting my friends to bad poetry instead of subjecting you to endless drabbles. ;-)