You're not here, so
I sit with your ghost,
staring at the place where you sat the most.
Your empty wine glass,
an empty toast.
The champagne you'd bought on the day you passed,
left corked for days,
weeks, years...
I could fill the bottle with all these tears.
I don't know how to tell you that I'm not all right,
so I sit with your ghost
and wish that your ashes could
hold me tight.
About the Creator
Valerie Taylor
Writer of short quirky stories, world traveler, lover of ren faire shenanigans, and dancer.
If you love 5 Minute Stories or my poetry, consider following me on Ko-fi (https://ko-fi.com/varerii).
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The Devil's Triangle
The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.
By Barbara Gode Wilesa day ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Sending hugs for you, beautiful words