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I touched my fingers to my cheek where Connor’s kiss still lingered.
“God,” I sighed, slumping against the door. I needed Ruby, but she was out—a note on the counter said she’d gone to Debra and Julie’s place down the hall. Just in case.
I thought about joining them but they’d ask a million questions about the date. Including if I was going to see Connor again.
A question I didn’t know how to answer.
Weston
In the space between us
A thousand unspoken words
Hang
A noose tightening
Around my throat
choking me silent
Heart bleeding
For autumn colors
Red and gold
And red again
Drowning in my
every thought
that is
for
you
I put down my pen and blinked at what I’d written.
I’d been working on the Object of Devotion poem a week now. Long stretches of absent-minded doodling, followed by bouts of writing, letting my mind spill onto the page however it wanted. Pretending the subject of these hopeless words wasn’t on a first date with my best friend. Or that I’d had a hand in orchestrating said date.
I read over the lines again, remembering what Professor Ondiwuje said about form—that how a poem looked on a page could have as much as im
pact as the words themselves.
My poem was arranged in a column. A scaffold of words with a lone you at the end, separated from the rest. The object separated from the devotion.
“Not too subtle there, Turner,” I muttered.
I flipped to a blank page to start over. I had a shit-ton of Econ reading on exchange rate regimes, but I couldn’t concentrate.
Are they hitting it off? Is she falling for him? Is he kissing her right now?
The front door opened, jarring me out of my thoughts.
“Hey,” Connor said. He shut the door without taking off his jacket and headed to the kitchen.
