May 17, 2011

one word prompt - forgotten

I didn’t think I’d be forgotten, at least not by you. We had made a lasting impression on the oak by Lace river and I’d trample on the fallen leaves in my leather boots, the ones my mom passed down. The top folded over like the hide of a wrinkly cow to reveal initials that I'd stitched in with navy thread. You liked the way they made my knees look knobby and I liked the way you stared.

We hadn't known each other long but what I did know is the scar on your arm had been there since you were three and you cried for hours when your dog Buster died.

My Daddy warned me about boys like you. He said they're too reckless and they'd only breed trouble. I was too stupid to listen and would kick up dust on our barn floor, eyes on my boots and the dirt that would sparkle in the sunshine, dreaming of the next time I'd see you. 

I didn't think that after those long autumn months, you're face was all I'd see for the rest of my life.

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