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The Poet
Pale and shaken from the morning, Elsie was drunk as hell. Her face flushed with half a smile and half a frown as she wondered blindly, looking for somewhere to go. The blind man had ripped out the sun from the sky so she tried to escape into the shadows where behind her, she watched the sky melt. A new destiny can only be born out of an open wound. As she walked into the night, the stars fought against the clouds and mist; living had always been more important to her than writing.
Long ago, he had told her of her destiny; that she would become a poet. Ever since that night, his name stayed engraved in her veins. The years, now engraved on her forehead and age having bleached her hair, she opened her memory and dived into the slipstream of her past where she swims up river and relives everything that was.
Their love had been sacred and for all these years beat in her ears but regret was more than this. The beauty that had disappeared from their youth made her think of him. She slipped the words ‘I love you’ from her mouth, raised her glass and questioned the sky.
