Her words were soft and pink
Like the petals of a late english rose
She sees herself in the backdrop of every 80s teen movie
Her hair flows orange against the fading sun, and
she looks at me like I have all the answers.
The yellow warblers on her dress
match the quirks of her smile, she’s
everything you’d want to be if you were
a girl’s girl.
I look in the mirror and I find no trace of her,
just lines of faded mascara
and premature frown lines.
But she stands behind me,
and that is enough.
Writer and photographer from remote Labrador, Canada. Just another cold Labradorian chillin' in the Big Land. Can most likely be found walking my dog Grace or behind an iMac screen slowly taking over the interwebs.