Sorbos Amargos

Sorbos Amargos

The last dishes he washed lie on the sink. I remember him folding clothes. The memories of him still throb under my skin. Appalling as it may seem. He walked towards me last night, as he were a total stranger. I didn't, in fact, recognize those eyes. That glare. The empty hug. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To Someone

Writing

Letting you go