Opting out, optimistically

by Charlotte E. Wilde

Love is a fickle, thirsting thing that waits whispering like a child in the dark. It spreads thick like peanut-butter & jelly sandwiches but lines the stomach with the charcoal of its breath until reality fades dingily away and drinking does nothing but pass the crying time.

‘I wouldn’t wish you on my worst enemy,’ I whisper to the wan of another sloping 3AM. But here we are in over our heads again, which is to say, mindlessly circling minefields of maybe-so’s without so much as a life-line.

Let’s be optimistic, let’s say we both survive.

What then?

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