d e a r v i o l e t
the flames rose into its zenith.
veronica! come join the bonfire! a friend of hers spared me a queer, curious look. oh, and your friend can come too.
friend. i glanced at her. she smiled, an acknowledgement of the title. and i smiled too.
it's boring, don't you think? she gestured around us. the music bled. bodies gyrated. the scent of sweat, salt, sea and the forgotten sun.
they seem to be having fun, i allowed. you're not?
fun. she scoffed. the word was a bittersweet laugh on her tongue. are you?
not really. i admitted. then why come?
everyone comes. for the booze, the drugs. a non-committal shrug.
and you? she stared into the dying fire.
where else is there to go? the dust swirled into sooty spires; a burning city of shadows.
veronica, i said. it's fun with you, though.
she looked at me. her eyes reflected the glowing embers, and they shone, c e r i s e in the firelight.
fun. now it was wistful, pensive, melancholic.
she was silent for a while.
it's fun with you too,
c h a r l i e
YOU ARE READING
Dear Violet
Poetryd e a r v i o l e t all the letters i wrote that you'd never get, the words i penned that you never read; of all the shades of you.
