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The Wrong Perspective

by Maria Kintner

"No." She said. And rejected me in the worst way.
"But I love you." I didn't believe her.

Until she started crying,
tears falling down in black streaks.
I knew they froze in the wind. Never
ever cry in the cold, winter wind.

"I will never be on your level."
She stated.
Struggled to keep her voice steady.

"Don't take this the wrong way...
But you are straight lines. Next to you,
I am a scribble."
I laughed at the thought.

"I need you to wrap me around your
perfect up-and-down. Make me a barber-shop
swirl, and keep me moving. I'll be the blood,
you be the bandages."

It was more than I could take, and I realized
how much...she loved me. And how I couldn't love
her enough. Perfect lines don't bend.

My sneaker, scuffing the rough concrete. The wind chill,
and it's nasty way of sucking the heat from an
alcohol-infused body. All the things I wanted to say,
but couldn't.

She smiled. Eyes glittering like city lights in the rain.
It shouldn't have been beautiful, but it was.
"I'll be ok." She said. "I beat you to it."
It's too cold to stand around waiting to do the wrong thing,
and her tights weren't warm enough to give me time.

Oh, how I should have kissed her then.


Author's Note: Yes, you idiot. You should have kissed me then.

Posted on 01/07/2011
Copyright © 2021 Maria Kintner

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/07/11 at 02:51 PM

It might be the wrong perspective, but it's also a pretty damn good story.

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