by Sonja Nitschke
I'm sorry.
I love you. I hope you know that.
(Can't say loved or knew.)
Shoot the apple off his head, shoot it off with your bow and arrow. I didn't think I'd miss.
The apple's still in the tree, red and whole. The arrow wasn't supposed to pierce you, kill you.
I'm so sorry.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Will You Tell?
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1 comment:
clever title, considering the story. I like it.
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