Seven days ...

Sinead sang it, I’m going to try and write it.

It’s been seven days (not seven hours) since he took his love away.  And of course, now I can do whatever I want.  And what I want  is to write about it.

I haven’t been to any fancy restaurants, in fact seven days and seven nights later, I can’t even remember what I did on that first night. If I had a glass of wine? What I watched on TV? What I talked ab…