I won’t ever tell you how it ended. But it ended. I was told not to act Like it was some big dramatic moment. She swiveled on her heels like she twirled just The other day on a bar stool, the joy Gone out of it now. Then she walked away. I called out to her once. She slightly turned. But she didn’t stop. I called out again. And that was when, well, that’s just when You know: You will always be what you were On that small street at that small time, right when She left and Pluto sudsed your throat and said, Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche Tú la quisiste, y a veces ella también te quiso. Copyright © 2016 Rowan Ricardo Phillips. Used with permission of the author. |
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