We sat together the other day, just like of old days. We talked about what we could have been, we talked through eyes, through soft touches. He talked in metaphors, I answered in silences, and we kept at the game, till it all got too much and I had to come away. Lies are exhilarating, sometimes.
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That's how I want remember him. This moment, in the soft light of the afternoon, the sugared coffee and his yellow shirt.
YOU ARE READING
Arcadia
PoetrySpilled thoughts, letters from no one, stories of another time, another place. - || H.R. : #50 in Poetry ||
