echoes | poetry | wattys2018

47

she would ask
for a ride,
wanting the
breeze hug
her face,
but all
i could is
to shook my head
in response,
–i don't have
cars,
or anything
on wheels.
perhaps,
she would
love to walk
with me?

her fingers laced
on mine,
she began to
hum,
–your warmth
is all i ever
wanted,
she whispers.

—to the girl who
never exists.