Swig- A poem


A simple outline.

Part air,

Part memory.

When my eyes shut,

You’re easier to visualize.

Grasp the toxic liquid.

“Here’s to us,” I say

looking at that picture

where you are smiling down at me,

looking at me like I was

more than the spectacular sun.

“Or to the old us.”

Swig.

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About themosthighhistoryguru

College student at Boston University studying History and psychology. Figuring life out day-by-day

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