In the Distance

by Sarah Marie

In the distance, when the sun meets the horizon on a painting that someone took in a drink and draw class, she (she was a she) learned about simple distinctions which are part of modernity.

Gloria was alone that evening wanting to separate herself from the rows of brownstones in her new found freeing life. At 26 or 36 she was alone before that in her kitchen doing bare essentials questioning when she should get dressed.

Listening to a song about an old lover who ditched her while owning an orange scarf and the woman counting her espresso clouds while her plane took off.

Her teddy bear stood at the end of a long white island with too many cabinets. It appeared candid and intellectual a guy with many experiences.

Her calves ached from not being cared for in a bit and she decided to push herself to make some meaning.

A guy with a four leaf clover in his hand was next to her as well as a woman from Parsons. She wasn’t parsimonious. He wasn’t getting lucky. She bought more glasses of wine. They did their contrived sunset.

They breathed in the rules and mannerisms of the game.

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