Stained

By , Jamison, PA
I remember you.
I remember the way we used to play.
The way we carved our path through the thicket of bushes and foliage.
I remember the way we plucked those berries,
and ate them without a thought or care.
I remember the black-toothed, wide-cheeked smiles we would give one another.
The way your hands would be stained.
The way they have stained every memory of you.
The way the stain, still now, bleeds into every new memory.
I can't hold her, because of you.
I can't live without regret, because of you.
I can't love anymore, because of you, and your berry-stained fingers.





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Hummingbird This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Oct. 28, 2011 at 1:26 pm
Wow, this is great! Reading the first few lines about eating blackberries makes me smile, because I too, as a child enjoyed running through the fields in search of those berries. And their taste was so worth the stained fingers. :) Your writing is really beautiful- keep it up. I would be honored if you wouldn't mind checking out my work.
 
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