So I told her
think of it this way:
you are my unlived life.
Um, she said
flatly, without inflection.
Her nose twitched.
I don't know what
that means,
she finally said.
I don't either,
I lied.
But it's like
when I think of you
I'm reminded
of how you made me
feel when we were
together, those short
five months
or was it six?
Possibly only four.
It depends on
whether you count
those kisses that came
after the breakup.
Why do the best kisses
come at the end?
I wanted to know.
Because by then
you're past caring
what anyone thinks
she said in my
unlived life, years
after the breakup.
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auditioning another poem for my new poetry collection--
you get a vote--
thanks everyone, for reading--
g
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Sweet, sad, and subtle.
I like the little stanzas.
Sweet, sad, and subtle.
I like the little stanzas.
Thank you, thank you, Dianne!
Outstanding poem, Gary!
*
P.S. But these lines I don't believe. They don't ring true.
"I don't either,
I said."
Bill Yarrow! You are exactly right! (as usual). I just changed it to read, "I lied."
I have been here and I know this to be true. Outstanding work. *
Gita, thank you!
*
thanks, sam!
*
Thanks for reading Larry