If I loathed Emilia,

half as much as she

forgave me,

when I thought she

had it out for me,

I’d forgive myself

for the trouble

of letting her down.

I cut my eyes at her.

Emilia swiveled her

gaze at mine.

I swallowed hard.

She exhaled my fears.

I cracked a grin.

Gooseflesh pebbled her arms.

Even in the November chill,

my heart warmed our delight

in the ashes of what I did.

Emilia moved her hair from her eyes.

I lit a death stick, took a puff,

scratched the back of my neck,

took another drag,

and cut my eyes to hers.

Emilia gave me an unbreakable eye contact.

I couldn’t shake what I did.

She crossed her legs

and begged me to accept her forgiveness.

I rested the smoke between my lips.

And I shrugged.

I shrugged as though I’d give in to embracing

the second chance that I didn’t deserve.

I promised, from now on, to shut the toilet seat.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online/

Twitter: AC0040