July

the-creek-1377163

I met him in the woods,
by the creek. The
desiccant grass bristled
underfoot; the trees refused
the coaxing wind,
as we traipsed our awkward path
to the water.

Absurd, to say he
could
have loved me.

As absurd as stepping
into the creek itself,
amidst the plaited weeds –
tremulous and sleek.

Author: ataraxicat

I am a 27-year-old Literature graduate and school teacher, based in the UK. I enjoy writing in my spare time. All characters and events are fictitious, probably mostly.

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