Ghosts.

Her lips stained like blood,                                                                                                                           matching her dress —                                                                                                                           painted on her porcelain skin.                                                                                                                                 Her raven hair lazily draped over her shoulders,                                                                   cascading the outline of her jawline.

Her piercing cerulean eyes fixated                                                                                                                        on the clock                                                                                                                                                which seems to be broken.

He’s late.                                                                                                                                                                         Nothing new. He was always late. Why should tonight be any different?

Another round.                                                                                                                                                    “4 fingers of Balvenie 15 year – NEAT, please.”                                                                                               The bartender poured with rolling eyes                                                                                                                                                                           She lost count of how many she’d had by now.

She brought it to her nose & swirled the golden liquid in her glass,                       & swallowed;       the ghosts of lilac & honey lingering on her drenched lips.

10:17pm; She noticed as she twirled her ring,                                                       it had been getting loose around her attenuated finger – but she dared not take it off,.                                                 Her eyes darting back & forth between the door & her drink.

This was a mistake.

Darling,” she turned to look behind her but saw only empty space.                                                                  That familiar drawl hummed through her ears. But still, the room was empty – filled only with the disregarded & forgotten memories of people long gone.

10:55pm; she hung her head as she carefully places her empty glass                                                      on the cherry stained bar before her.

Happy Anniversary, dear.” she whispered, [ to herself ] falling away from her chair; defeated.

© Gina Jenkins

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