[62] – Runaway
“She scribbled out a
Three minute letter
On the back of a
Yellowed-out receipt
Broke my promise,
And left.”
The boy said aloud.
“She jotted down
Some crumbling words
Meaningless and floating
And unreal
On a piece of waxy paper,
Broke my heart,
And left.”
Her brother stopped pulling
At his ragged hair
Enough to choke out.
“She’s a runaway.
She’s not going to stop running.”
YOU ARE READING
Pluviophile
PoésieIt was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
