“Now hold on a minute!”
“Which one?” she asked cooly.
He stumbled under this twist in the dialog. Every time they met, it was the same arguement, the same tears, the same making up.
“…which what one?”
She gazed at him, dry eyed, “Which minute? Which minute would you like me to hold on? The minute I thought you were coming back to me? Or the minute I realized you would always leave? Because you see, those are very different minutes. And I need to know which one to hold on to.”