by Michelle Davis
"It's a funny thing, hate," her blue eyes clouded by years of use could see into the soul far better than the menu before her. "It consumes your mind and heart so as there is no room left for love. You lose it; love, I mean, because there's just not enough of you to think about both." I only meant to treat her to lunch - not all my problems, so I bit my tongue and fought the urge to tell her everything. "I know, Mama," but I could tell that wouldn't be the end of it. I hated her for that.
Michelle Davis is a writer of observation though her imagination often has to fill in the blanks that reality leaves behind.