May 2010
3 posts
1 tag
1 tag
Sometimes
It’s difficult seeing, to look at her on a Saturday afternoon, and to know, know she also knew, for the first time this will be the last Saturday they sit, coupled and crying, pretending they didn’t know, didn’t see that together they couldn’t move on.
And she knew that soon all she’d have is a memory, because every writer knows, and every writer tries still for more, to somehow be more giving....