Three Forty-Two
Hey little fighter, soon things will be brighter.
It doesn’t take me long to remember
A fated afternoon in a balmy September,
The one that took your breath away .
The rooftop garden and how the trees sway,
How the evening sun shines on you,
The orange butterfly I saw right as they say
time of death: Three forty-two.
How you cradled in my arms, how your hair curled
Like a picnic blanket, my vision of you unfurls.
If I could hold you again I’d feel you, steal you
But most of all I’d heal you.
No ventilator, no baby-shaped craters
No goodbyes and no “See you laters.”
About the Creator
Sarah Marler
29 | Libra | Living in a daydream
I've had the dream to be a writer for years, but never the confidence in myself. Even now, I'm doing this terrified, but we deserve to chase what calls us. Take that anxiety.
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More stories from Sarah Marler and writers in Poets and other communities.
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What do you do when your skin doesn't fit? You can't hang it up in the back of the closet or return it to the rack. There's no refunds or exchanges. You get one body. One vessel to experience life with. And when that vessel malfunctions over and over again, the wires get crossed. The pieces and the parts get warped, their once shiny edges rusting. The cogs get harder and harder to turn. And for a lot of other chronically ill people, there's a Before and an After. Who I was before I got 'sick.' Who I am now. Who am I now?
By Sarah Marler2 years ago in Confessions
If You Love Me, You'll Do It
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Comments (1)
This was so heartbreaking. Sending you lots of love and hugs 🥺❤️