july
hudson, ny
-
him
shit.
i'm bad at this
and she's standing there
laughing.
god, i love that laugh.
it makes me laugh
just hearing it.
around corners
i can hear her stifling it,
wishing she'd laugh more.
she's sipping whiskey
from a plastic cup,
pretending it isn't
strong like rubbing alcohol
but i know it burned
as it trickled down
her throat.
she was wearing that
green dress that looked
like it was made
for running away in.
her hair was down,
wavy around her face
and framing it
like a photograph.
we laughed at bad jokes
and i couldn't help
staring at her.
how could you not?
she was shining like the
brightest star
as the night deepened
around the four of us.
but when didn't she?
YOU ARE READING
how to heal
Contoa short story / set of poetry about healing and letting time mend you that is based upon real events but not entirely true (:
