Brandy Alexander

Today I didn't feel much like moving. I just lay there, letting things spin around my head, still hung up on a dream. I hated waking. It was pins and needles and butterflies all at once, my breath catching. It was love, I think. I wanted it back. I lay there in boycott. I could've cried.

After showering, I didn't bother dressing. The Chinooks wailed outside. The hairs stood on my wet skin, on the back of my neck.

I left sloppy lipstick kisses on the mirror, the outline of my face, and wiped them away with a towel.

Hours later, in a liquor store parking lot, waiting, Brandy Alexander. Pins and needles and butterflies all at once, my breath catching. Phantom sorrow. Tears for lack.