"Do you even remember what she was like?"
the alcoholic was asked about his late wife,
Two shots of vodka and a tear of soberness later,
"she was the olive to my martini" the answer came.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Ends
PoetrySometimes it's not about the end. It's just about the story. A collection of four liners that I wrote which didn't have the oh-so-perfect endings. Well because life doesn't offer each and everyone the fairytale endings they grew up listening to.
