You packed your things and waited for morning to start the long drive back home and away from the life we made, but you stood there in front
By Kay Husnick2 years ago in Poets
"We don't use that word here," Patty says. "You don't use—" "No," she stops me. "We don't even use the letter." "Why?" A confused look crosses my face. "How does that even work?"
By Kay Husnick2 years ago in Fiction
In the end, I can't help but wonder, How did you move on so quickly? How did you pack up your bags and walk away like that,
Venom seeped out of your mouth that night. My own moved faster than my brain. Three words and it was over, words I do not recall
I never wanted to say goodbye to this, us; you were everything. I cry myself to sleep, and you're sleeping on the couch.
Before you, I only knew what I didn't want listed the things I couldn't do again walked away with ease picked up on a tone or phrase or one slightly dismissive shrug, and I was out,
When I worked in a used bookstore a few years ago, I collected trashed clearance items with permission from my manager. As books were cleared off shelves after a year or so unsold, I chucked title after title into dumpsters out back.
Back then, I kept job alerts set for Ohio emails with new listings in my industry sent right to my inbox so we could move home
Once upon a time, you were my everything my day, my night, my dreams, the air in my lungs, the warmth in my bed I told myself fairytales of us
If you could go back, would you change anything? I wouldn't change a thing Sometimes, I think about what might be different
The spellbooks say to sever a bond I need candles and string my mother says I need a lawyer the bank says I need your signature or you need mine
Karma came to get you charted course, snuck her way in, and settled down squatting in your backyard, she's a fiend whispering through your window
