Ana called me special,

I wiped that goddamn lie,

fixed as a sheepish grin, off my mouth

as my eyes danced behind sunglasses

at the thought of it being true.

I implied nothing of the kind as we blurred the lines,

making the most of the concept

as special left an ambiguous interpretation,

so backbiters rolled with interpolations.

How could I have expressed perfection?

I’ve got a cigarette between both teeth.

I have yet to pay the light bill

for the thoughts of her that illuminated

flaws lit the walls to traces of ambitions

to cast the midnight oil over my desperation,

which roams my mind around rapid statements

of conclusions left undecided.

A voice yet to be discarded

sings a song through a pen

put to paper, scribbling life’s lessons

as though we alone among our group of friends

had the key to romance.

A romance that ached my heart

when her tears told me

she’d lost the baby to heaven’s gates.

Ana said the baby was so special

that God wanted to keep her as an angel.

Five years later, that day was closer

than the pain I felt just the other night.

But still, we called each other special.

We said it until we believed it.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online/

Twitter: AC0040