wb :

it’s all he knows how to do:
    stringing fairy lights above
    the corpse of their relationship.


he has cut up the images of her,
of them, keeping only the pretty bits –
    the comfortable silences on quiet afternoons;
    the dusty photographs of them smiling,
their faces against the sun.


in his world there is no one else.
nothing but a silent loop of tape
    constantly rewinding, playing
    images of empty roads, of entwined fingers;
happiness, contentment –
    whirring and stopping in the dark.


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cross-posted from my writing blog: i just felt like breaking adam's combo. this should bring my total post count up to three! feels good being a contributing member of the community. -ryan