He sat down beside her.
"Alone again?"
She smiled. "Solitude is my forte."
He shifted closer.
"Does it help? Chocolate?"
"It's sweet and heavy. It sits
In my stomach, and it feels
Like I'm carrying a rock around."
He looked up, surprised.
"What difference does it make?"
She paused. "Nothing, except this
Time, pain has a physical form."
It began to drizzle. She stood up.
"Do you want some of mine?"
His eyes lit up. He laughed.
"Appreciate the offer, but I
Think I'll stick to being sad.
At least then, I'll get to see you."
He turned on his heel and
Walked away.
...
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHIRAETH- (n.) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which never was. Previously: Songs Of My Lonely Soul. *** A Song Of My Lonely Soul. A Ballad Of My Heart Whole. A Story That Was Never Said. When We Find It To Be Dead. ...
