Thursday, November 1, 2018

Hello Again

#writeyourgrief R1-Grief personified.
She’s got his long stringy hair. His guitar thrown carelessly over her shoulder. It bangs on stuff when she moves and makes ugly noise. She has a smug face but doesn’t say much. “I know who you are,” I say to her. Relentless fucking bitch. “I know what to do.” She won’t stop looking at me with those fucking eyes. Still my eyes. Just like before. She’s the same but--maybe tired? I don’t know. I don’t think she really gets tired. Maybe it’s me who is tired. When the light hits her just right, his yellow eyes. She reeks of warm beer. “I said I know what to do. You don’t need to look at me. Just go. I know what to do.” She’s on the floor now. Right in the middle of the floor spinning one of his spurs. Running it around like a toy truck. Tapping it on her hand for the jingle. She gives zero fucks that I want her gone. She looks at me, lights a cigarette, fills the room with smoke and then flicks ash on me. And that’s when I know she’s not going anywhere.

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