Fifty words.
It’s all we have.
Alan took himself from us, so young, when she still had hundreds.
Saturday she couldn’t remember that the bedroom—that dusty shrine—was once his.
Yesterday, his name dropped away.
Soon she’ll gaze at me and see a stranger. We’ll be down to forty-nine.
After chasing his muse from Virginia to Manhattan, Richard Day Gore settled in Southern California, where he spends his time pushing around words, paint brushes, and guitar strings.
In a word – perfection!
Clearly, Richard’s chase is over. He has his writer’s muse firmly in his grasp.
it only takes 50 words to make me cry. when richard writes them, that is.
Sufficiently haunting – well done.
Love to read more… Send me somewhere.
Thanks
Christian
incredible! i like this concept…
made me cry at work damn it. love this. thank you for writing it.