a deflated valentine

Now that I think about it. Now that it's the end of the day. And nothing in particular has happened. Except for it, for that. Now it seems queer. Unusual.
Hollowly significant.

I was unloading my whites from the washing machine this morning. They'd been in there for a couple of days. I have a tendency to forget about laundry. Done and undone. Once everything was cleared out, I looked down, just to catch stray socks before they slipped down into wherever it is they tend to disappear to. And there it was. Dark and rumpled. I didn't recognized it at first but it didn't look organic so I fearlessly reached in a pulled it out. Rubber. A balloon. Or more like, a fragment. A party balloon that had somehow made it's way from some long over festive occasion into my washing machine.

There was white writing on it.
"Happy Valentine's Day".

I kid you not.

And for the rest of the day, nothing particular happened.
I guess it was just a 'hello' from the gods.

Thanks guys. Because, for the rest of the day, well. It just went along. In no particularly epic fashion. Still. Not yet. Nothing. And now it's time for bed.


I suppose there's still tomorrow.