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Where I Go You May

We knew this day would come. I've decided to stay.

Since I left you sleeping that morning, days pass on narrow roads alongside rainy emerald hills. Words we said in those final days drum upon me as the rain falls soft upon my uncovered head.

Each night is the mutter of locals tending their pints, adding a word or two as I dared. Words became quips which became jokes and then toasts to the room. Rounds were bought and craic was had.

There's no reason for me to return, nothing to bring me back. I hope you understand, and I hope you can come to accept my reasons and my decision.

The ticket is on the countertop. Your plane arrives tomorrow night. I can't wait for you to join me.

Story by:

Tony Breland

pictogram1@mac.com

submitted at 7:02am

14 January 2011