You’re wondering why
you kept her number,
why everyone you know
seems to be going
somewhere, while you
stand, ankle-deep, in
quick-drying concrete.
The lights are out, but in
the candlelight you can
see a glimmer—her eyes
are open. She is awake,
sitting cross-legged
on your floor, waiting
for you to say something.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Pexels
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