Marisa Gonzales lives in Cerritos CA. She waits patiently for what may never come. She is a realist with a big imagination. She likes to read books, drink coffee, and travel.
By Marisa Gonzales
It was April 28, our eighth month together.
He took me to a cafe for dinner.
It was chilly, but his windbreaker warmed me up.
He pulled me into his arms;
he was nervous and a little distracted.
I held his hand, but felt something was wrong.
Through dinner he was quiet, a little standoffish.
A wave of worry washed over me.
Then he pulled a Tiffany box from his pocket.
Inside the box was a promise ring.
He had me feeling blue ecstatic.