dear oliver,
i watched as you caught
your breath; your knees
shook with ease as you
held onto my hand for
support.
“thanks for being my
crutch,” you laughed
and poked my dimple.
“my absolutely beautiful
girlfriend.”
a weak smile coated my
pink lips as i continued
to stare at you.
“no, you stopped, haven’t
you?” he let go of my
hand and sat down on
a bench, not even minding
the “wet paint” sign.
“i’m sorry,” i sat down
next to him.
“you need to eat, quinn,”
he shook his head. “you’re
not fat.”
i gave a small laugh, “oliver,
stop ly-” my sentence was
broken into two as our lips
clashed. he looked deeply
inside my eyes, searching
for something, hope? only
to find nothing.
“you’re beautiful.”
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
