My aching fingers traced the tapered ends of the tattered piece of paper

The ink was black 

Some letters fainter than the rest 

Perhaps the quilt had a problem 


The letter was written in a jovial tone 




But there was something about the way the tail of some alphabets curled around their own necks 
I remember Grace 

I remember the sunset in her eyes 

The dimples in her back

The jagged ends of her teeth like an unskilled tribal’s handicraft 

The soft clavicles which she covered under her full,lustrous hair which fell right up to her hips 


I always saw her from afar 

When she walked with her face towards the concrete that she walked on 

The way her fingers would tap on the table when she was nervous 

Her cute attempts at feigning pleasure at humdrum social gatherings

I always saw her showing less than what she was capable of 
Every time I drew close to her,the vanilla on her skin would push me back into my abyss 

My uncomfortable,awkward abyss 

I wanted to hold her hand

Place her head on my beating heart and tell her I cared 
She was too good for the world she draped around herself 

I was afraid 

I could see it in her eyes that she was afraid too 
That night when they swarmed around her house 

With candles and torches 

I knew what had happened 

The noose on her letters became the noose around her neck.


2 thoughts on “Grace”

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