29th January 2012
photographs line the walls, a dresser with a mirror, a frame propped up on the mirror’s face. I can remember the days you almost reached out to hold my hand, and we were almost there, until I realised I was happy just seeing you smile.
The way you waved, nodded, blinked your hazel eyes, the way your hair drooped in front of your eyes and how you’d part it from your face, slouch in your chair and almost close your eyes, I wish you’d look at me again.
The sound of a melodica whispers in the background and the car rolls up the drive; I pull the curlers from my hair and thank God you’re alive.
everyone knows that behind your golden shades are those bright blue-hazel eyes.