"Can I read some of them?" I ask.
He said, "No. I don't show them to anyone."
I said, "Just one? Can I read just one? Please!"
He said, "You are just so curious, aren't you. Just like a cat."
Yes, I think, I am just like a cat that way.
After much thought he says, "I will write a poem for you, ok?"
"Will you let me read it?" I ask hopefully.
He said, "Maybe."
The epilogue ...
Today I sit here in this vast land of my king size bed wearing nothing but his soft blue t-shirt.
I twirl the silver bracelet he gave me in the palm of my hand.
Something always brings me back to him.
Could be that there is still a scent of him left behind in his shirt.
Or could it be the mystery of that poem he promised me?
The one I never got to read.
And now that he is gone, I realize the punchline might have just killed me.
The Tart
; *
13 comments:
sweet story, great image!
thanks.
Beautiful image and touching narrative.
Best to you!
Oh. : ( That is a sad punchline.
But a beautiful image.
Maybe the other way..
sometimes the sentiment of a poem that remains unwritten,, or in this case left unread, can be more intimate than one that is shared...
chin up..
very nice image
I like that cat specially
:o)
At least you have eight lives left.
i hear sadness, but i guess sometimes we just be better off left in the dark to make of things what we'd choose
Love the twist that keeps one hanging on.
Blessings,
Linda
IN MY FATHER’S FIELD, at Nickers and Ink
Wow. Sad punchline--quite the twist to where I thought that was going. Great image.
Maybe you did read it just never knew it.
jocelyn is my name...interesting....
pretty!
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