Sentiments and Schizophrenia: Where Happiness Comes to Die.

I met my soulmate on a hot Saturday morning as the sun beat down with a vengeance upon my sticky back and I stood at the bus stop waiting for a cab. I was however unable to raise a hand to shield my face, or reach into my bag for a mini towelette I could blot my face with because both hands were loaded down with an incredibly fragile red velvet cake that was due for delivery to a cranky client who had called me approximately 5 times in the past 20 minutes. No big deal though. I was used to demanding clients.  So i stood in the sun and felt my makeup curdle and run down my face in a manner that was bound to leave me looking like a failed chocolate ice cream experiment but i wasn't bothered by that. The problem was, the valley between my breasts was beginning to itch with all the sweat, and if I didn't get a cab soon, cake be damned. I would dump it facedown on the hot tar and race for an air conditioned shelter.

    Wife chewed her lower lip softly as she stared at his sleeping form. The way his chest heaved when he breathed looked violent and forceful. Like he was angry, even in his sleep. She walked away from him and went to peek at the baby, safe and equally asleep in his tiny crib. Her heart lurched with the affection that had been absent in the stare she had fixed on the baby's sleeping father. She touched his sweet little face and almost couldn't wait to play with him when she got back home in the evening. She then tiptoed back to her husband's side and nudged him with her handbag. He used to be a light sleeper but these days, it took more than a nudge to get him up. Husband blinked his bleary eyes to focus them then said "oh you're ready for work. Wait, let me wear my clothes and open the gate so i can escort you to the bus stop"