when she leaned against his shoulder i felt
a drop of something, like an unfired bullet
slide down my windpipe and settle underneath
my throat. but the pain was in my gut.
a wrench like seeing the ghost of a dead
friend only days after you shed your
last tears. i focused on the bullet instead.
what really hurts are the lightest touches,
the things we love the most. it's a well-known
fact but only to those who found out the hard way.
her head on his shoulder.
echoes, just now coming back to me before
they leave again. i'm afraid they're
going to fade out at last and they
won't return for another time.
1 comment:
i love this.
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