To disappoint the hopes or expectations of sometimes yourself, sometimes your second date
He reads me his poetry in between strokes. A handful of lines to hold the spectrum of emotion. You can’t actually like this, I call from below. I don’t, somewhere above my head, But everyone else does. All art is ripped off from each other. I put my shirt on and go down 16 floors. He reads books that care, though.
Megan Huffman has been previously published in Canyon Voices, YO-NEWYORK!, and Havik. She currently resides in Queens, New York with a high maintenance Pomeranian named Vincent as her roommate.