everytime i explain
something about
him
the images clear -
as if the optometrist
has asked me
"1, or 2..."
and everything
becomes
clearer with the turn
of a glass eye piece.
the day
grows closer now.
25.
may.
he was 49
substantially young
substantially alive
substantially daddy
****
her radiance screams his
past
his nonexistent future
his never ceasing.
her movement
so longitudinally
circumventing his
living equator.
her breath rapes the
air with his gentle
words -
steals its essence
as all is silenced
in the crook of
his neck
the softness of his
sleeve
the depth of his chest...
she
feels
ripped
off.
but glazes that emotion
with the nonsense of logic
and grateful nod of forever -
as the surreal of life
swiftly moves upward
and
his perfect cannot leave.
it inhabits her
being her
person her
living her
moving her
loving her
her
alone...without
him.
About the Creator
Carrie Wisehart
Teacher -- Author -- Speaker -- Joy Chooser -- coffee drinker -- Mama -- cyclist -- voracious reader ...living the Best Day Ever Adventure
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddalla day ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
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