We clung to each other in the dryer. Spinning socks became whirling dervishes in a passionate dance.

Unceremoniously thrown onto the hard surface. I was the only one left. Widowed now, and no one else can be my mate.

You’re gone.

I’ve resorted to cuddling up to a lint ball.

Making people laugh, especially while they’re swallowing big spoonfuls of soup, is one of Diane Malk’s goals. She is a writer from Colorado who shudders at the sight of snow every winter and is certain she lived in the tropics in a previous life. Diane has been published in Mad Swirl, Hackwriters, and Scarlet Leaf Review. She is working on her first book and always has a craft project in the works.