Supper with my sister, who, with youthful eyes, Drove, to the dingy Doggy Diner That had me shaking with familiar cold. A tender, laughing couple caught my cloudy gaze, With bright smiles like pristine saucers. I was Eighty-Three.
The young man wrapped a strong arm, Snug around the girl’s soft shoulders. They looked so merry and ever so hopeful… Full of an undying love that I once held Towards a partner; my very own. I was Eighty-Three.
I felt the ghost of warmth Against my now wrinkled skin, And a sweet peck on my cheek Making me feel frisky, lively... Like he was by my side once again. But, I was Eighty-Three.
The loving spirit vanished With my sister’s nasal voice And pale food put before me on a plate. She asked me if I remembered or recalled An old friend’s name and I replied with a bitter “no.” I was Eighty-Three.
About the Creator
N. DeBoni
an aspiring poet - student - chasing a dream
In The Blink of Her Eye
Time itself bent and morphed, allowing Shannon the precious seconds needed to see and adjust to the disaster unfolding in front of her. Each frame showed minute details she would have missed had the clock not slowed down until she heard every click of the hands as they swept toward the end of everything. If only she was being melodramatic...
By Lisa VanGalen4 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.