The Girl from August.

Barefeet–siting on the roof. Wondering how leaving was my choice–out of all the other things to do.

Yesterday all I could dwell on was how I lost you, darling…Well, how you lost me. Today I’m barefoot on my roof. The only worry I have is if there is enough for another mimosa–or two.

Here on the roof the clouds don’t care about the future I was so sure I saw. The crickets don’t care that I’m running away from the Fall.

The fireflies flicker without a worry in their world…that on the rooftop, there is a cracked and fissured girl.

I can ignore the pounding fear of being adrift. Ignore the hundreds of dollars spent. Neglect to think on how far I fell–Just sip on champagne and whisper to the stars all of of my fells.

This rooftop is so small. This town even smaller. My heart pieces can only want to wander.

Barefeet and tipsy, sitting on the roof: Wondering how leaving, no, running, was my choice out of all the things to do.


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