(never) yours

~ cdelacuadra

 

She’ll fly away one day.  A speck against the sun. 

Glorious and free.

But will she miss the ache of her chest, the yearning in her breast?  
The way his stubble might have felt on her throat? 
His lips on her pulse?
  
Oh, yes.

If only.  Wrong time.  Wrong place.
Missing him.  Pretending not to.

He was never yours.


— Charla M. DelaCuadra

Published by cdelacuadra

Always a reader. Sometimes a traveler. Usually an archivist. Often a writer. Frequently a musician. Constantly a student of life.

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