I’m not mad, I’m devastated.

a prose poem by Haley

They pour a corona down your roots hoping you’d taste the sweet summer intoxication, to revive old times in your solitude. CD playlists and amusement park trips, your free spirit flowed into all of us. Your hearty laugh was a symphony worth replaying a billion times. I ache to see you smile before me, to soothe my teenage angst and subdue this internal pain. Pink ribbons and bows turned to all black everything, on the inside and out. I’m not mad that you’re not here, I’m devastated.

Haley is a junior.


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