I lost the ring in a veritable storm of shouts and tears. The wedding hadn’t gone as planned. She left him at the altar. We drove away.
Adirondack chairs abandoned lakeside. Kayaks tied to the car roof. Tweens puff on stolen cigarettes, plot to run away together.
The opposing armies took refuge in the same town until the storm ended. Befriended and with no one to fight they returned to their families.
The more envelopes I lick the more I believe that this is the taste of friendship. The mail carrier knows my name. You know my written hand.
Since we’d stop talking, why hadn’t the graffiti in black Sharpie disappeared off the window’s grate? That’s the problem: lies don’t fade.