by Paige Turner

You had to leave town the day after we met. You called on a pay phone three hundred miles away, you wanted to tell me you missed me. The second time I kissed you I was stepping out of a greyhound; I could hear my heart go "pop" over the engine. I remember the dress I was wearing, flowers wrapped in plastic, and the fragile, hopeful look that went over your face and all the way through me. The last time I woke up with your arms around mine I felt so much love I couldn't move. You were gone an hour later, and the city didn't feel like home anymore.


Paige Turner writes for a living and is infatuated with her pen name.