Sunday, April 12, 2015

Atlas of Goodbyes #1

Perhaps I feel your absence today in a loosening lull in the rain after a clap of thunder shakes the upper windows of the house that once spoke to me alone when I leaned my elbows along the delicate edge of her windowsills.

Maybe as I recall the pivotal scene of our parting, a performance of memory I’ve become expert on, the permanent sting feels unnatural like a cat that can’t relax or a persistent tingle traveling across my scalp held in momentarily by the music’s easy beat, cold drink in hand, the comfort of small talk.

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