Prose Poetry: Done

I am done, she said. Not aloud, not to anyone who would hear the words. She said it with a choice, with a lack of doing that spoke volumes louder than any b&w sidewalkwords she could have chosen. I am done, she told him. She told him by not showing up, by ignoring his calls, by turning the other way. I have no other choice, she wanted to explain. She got on the bus and she watched his figure disappear amongst the crowd on the sidewalk one Tuesday afternoon in April. He was taller than most, but he disappeared that day. She hadn’t expected a goodbye to become a goodbye so quickly.

And sometimes they’d speak again through awkward glances and slightly curled lips meant to signify a smile. Sometimes she would imagine his hand atop her thigh, resting there surreptitiously when they thought no one was looking but it was painful to do so and she usually found herself in the restroom for longer than was seemly. Sometimes they could bear to be near one another and they could converse with little to no strain on their hearts. Sometimes they could carry on in complete silence and not feel the urge to hide.

Sometimes.

But through it all, there was the cello and there was the song, the song with her name branded into the lyrics, the song that was not a love song but a farewell song, and that, that is what made it all so hard to swallow.

So she is done, now. There are no more smiles, no glances, no strange silences wherein so many confessions are made. She is done and that is that, is all, is enough.

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Comments
2 Responses to “Prose Poetry: Done”
  1. Hello Hannah, I really like your blog, you are such an awesome writer. You are very gifted and talented. May GOD continue to bless you to be all he call you to be. Be Bless, DIVA Iketha

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