thirty six
i gripped the almost empty bottle of whiskey
and stared down at her grave.
the one memory
the only memory
i chose to remember
of her
still replayed in my head.
i could hear her laugh
light and full of life.
see her smile,
wide and happy.
i raised the bottle of whiskey
to my lips
and took the last mouthful.
i swallowed the hard liquor
and fixed the white roses
at the bottom
of her grave.
“i love you,”
her voice echoed in the night air,
“and i love you,”
“promise?”
i faintly smiled at the memory
and placed the empty bottle
of johnny walker besides her grave.
“forever.” i swore
and walked away.
YOU ARE READING
Memories of Aspen
Short Story"Because memories of Aspen were all I had left." *Spin-off to Forgetting Roman*