My pen dances across the paper. Gently swirls and glides like it has a mind of its own. It stops moving. Holding the paper in front of me I notice it. I’ve drawn your face again. I reach into my pocket and fumble for the lighter. Click The fire starts at the edge of the paper. Slowly it works it way to your face consuming it in flames. I have to understand that you aren’t coming back. I have to make sure you don’t. The ashes fly away with the breeze and so do our memories.
July 21, 2011