un.) finding myself slightly intoxicated last night; on sadness, on whiskey. deux.) the way H.'s eyes light up when his favourite song is played by the DJ. trois.) the way lace clung to my collarbones when dancing. quatre.) waking up with a cloudy mind, thoughts mimicking the mid-February weather. cinq.) rain falling on the brick outside my window, soft ticking, counting the drops in a minutes time. six.) Keaton Henson on vinyl to keep me company during breakfast.

x

better left unsaid;

I know I should not be saying this,

but at 14 minutes to one in the morning, 

I miss my aunt. I miss the little things, the nonsense:

the laying in bed at two in the afternoon, sun leaking through the shutters.

the drives around town, '57 Chevrolet pickup, windows down, hair blowing in the wind.

the vintage finds, the old handbags. hair brushes that belonged to my grandmother, to her mother,

I miss my friend, 

the warm embrace as salty liquid escaped the brims of my eyes on exhausting high school days.

I miss,

             my aunt.