She lost

She’d lost. She’d lost the argument. She knew she’d lost. He’d gone.

She’d lost. She’d lost his presence. She’d lost a future. He left the past.

She’d watched. She’d watched him count. She’d watched him count his shirts.

She’d watched him count his surplus shirts and put them in a bag. A bin bag.

She took them to the clothes bank. He never said.

She’d lost. She’d lost the money. He took it all.

Then she lost it.

Proper lost it.

Then she lost it more.

He’d taken the wine. He’d taken all of the wine.

She didn’t lose his address. He never gave it.

She paced. She paced the fields. She paced the fields and sang.

She paced the fields and sang I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR.

She wrote. She wrote a list. She wrote a list of all the reasons why she hated him.

She stopped at two sides of A4.

She made a paper boat and sank it with a rock.

The sun shone.

She lay on the jetty and smiled.

She found. She found the joy. She found the joy of peace.

She found the joy of peace inside her head.

She took. She took permission back. She took permission to hurt her back.

She keeps it safe.

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About Linda Nicklin

Live in the East Midlands with two cats and a dog. Occupational Therapist and serial course taker. Trying to find my voice through song, creative writing and this week block printing. Next week who knows...
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