Page 10 - Demo

Sophie Turner
If I Were a Candle
My soul smells like weed and citronella. It is fading.
Occasionally, I catch a whiff and think about The things I could have been.
I could still be.
I am not.
I am becoming someone I have never met.
There is no return. Only wandering.
There is a longing in that earthy sweetness.
Morning dew on poorly maintained Bermuda grass.
The stuffed bear sitting on my nightstand-
A gift from a cousin I barely knew on a vacation I can hardly remember.
Grief does not come in waves. Waves are predictable.
Memory is a funny fickle thing.
Always there to weigh you down.
Disappearing when you need it most.
Cloth pulled from beneath my feet then draped over my eyes. I never knew you until you were gone.
I’ll spend my life searching for you, Hoping I’ll find myself in the journey.
My soul smells like weed and citronella.
So steeped in the thick citrus skunk smoke that I never cared To wonder where it came from.
Me.