Out of nowhere
You were there
Across the bar
Did you have to glare that hard?
I noticed you too
Your tattoo peeking through
Did you need help, maybe?
Another beer, possibly?
A pen is what you asked
Then you dashed off real fast
Came back and paid your tab
Handing me the napkin note
You left before I had time to read what you wrote
That was the beginning of our love story
It ended two years later in tragedy
Your addictions have you fragmented
Broken pieces on street cement
My love cannot mend
The broken pieces together again
The Man 100 words written for Friday Fictioneers November 22, 2013
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple | Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
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