I think that, finally,
I understand why you had to leave.
The police was at my place this morning,
Asking about you
In a way that made it clear
You were in trouble.
I told them you were always in trouble,
But usually,
It was the good kind.
They didn’t smile.
When it comes to her, there is no good kind,
They said.
Then they told me about the thefts.
I don’t think I said anything after that.
After they left, I stared at the window
Where you used to sit
And I wondered
How much of your glamor was built
On dust and lies.
YOU ARE READING
The Wishing Game
Short Story"i think that someone hollowed out the stars and poured all of their magic into you."
