A vain attempt

She sat in her favorite little coffee shop in town with an old tattered blue spiral. It had History of Western Music written in a thick Sharpie on the cover. It was crossed off and had the word Grandpa written on underneath it. In her hand was her favorite pen. She stole from the office she worked at after classes on the weekday.
She sat with a large cup of coffee in front of her. The steam escaped from the mug and she ran her fingers in and out of it breaking the steady flow of hot air.
“Everything she did reminded her of him. Everything from traffic lights to to 4th of July fireworks made her remember their times together. Somehow, since he left, the world was a duller place. It seems odd that a relative, a Grandpa for that matter, changed the world so much for one little girl.”
She read over what she wrote and scoffed. She crossed it out like she did to the five pages before it.
Nothing she wrote seemed to make her feel it was worth writing more about Grandpa.
He was too special for words.

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