Adjectives are my favourite
Type of word because they’re
All so different. Each one tells
A totally different story. A
Wide smile spread on her lips
Paints a hell of a different
Picture to a painful smile spread
On her lips. They even feel
Different, parting from the
Tip of your tongue and rolling
Around in your ears, each
With their own colour and
Shape and texture and their
Own single-worded stories
Bursting or popping or hissing
Or crawling out of them,
Ticking parts of your brain
Here and there as if they
Were alive. They’re how I
Remember you. I relive the
Time you left every day inside
My head, each little fucking
Adjective reminding me what
Loss sounds like. They all tell
Their own stories one-worded
Stories to me, sometimes soft,
Other times real: lucky.
Contented. Warm. Safe?
Buried.
Broken.
Haunted.
Alone.
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