dear oliver,
it went something like this:
your mom: oliver is in a bad place, quinn.
me: i know, and i’m sorry he is.
your mom: it isn’t your fault. he’s been
talking lately about his father.
do you know about him?
me: yes, i do.
your mom: oh, really? what do you
know?
me: i know enough to say you
didn’t deserve it.
she hugged me and cried. i hugged
her back for a minute or two and
let her cry a river of sadness.
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...
