she wore her hair down – kevin ridgeway

we were across the street
from the taco bell we dined
in when we first moved to this city,
both of us in the shadow of death
with the desperation for
a better life in dirty clothes,
both of us giving each other shit
for her drinking and
for my drugging until
my drug kicked in before hers
and she had to carry me over
to the bus stop. she never
wore her hair down since
the night we fell in love,
but she did that day. I do
not remember if we kissed
each other goodbye or
if I hugged her when she
whispered to me final words
that I lost in a deep narcotic
sleep in my bed at home.
she kept trying to call me
through the night because
something was wrong
and I listened to her voice
in the messages she recorded
her quiet, inaudible voice dying
when I failed to carry her back
to the safety of our broken love.

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