Photo by Marco Bianchetti on Unsplash
I’d rather you tell me it was all a lie
than me sitting in this room
staring at the blank walls
remembering us
wishing it was all real.
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the chairman
Packing up his house was a sensation of numbness. There was a stinging in my eye but no tears were left to come out. Everything fits into perfect little boxes. The vinyls, his cigarette reeking flannels, the pictures of us as kids, all the memories of the good times. Perfect little boxes. Except the chair.
By Elizabeth Kefauver3 years ago in Poets
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