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157: The Last Time I Cried

The last time I cried

was in a dimly lit bar

tables scattered

merely 20 in attendance.

The music man at the mic said

raise a glass

Let’s toast this city.

You all survived.

The time before that

was in the morning

under the dusty red quilt.

I woke up from a dream

that you were gone.

You’d been sick.

The tears found me

before the sun,

a souvenir of the year.

The time before that

we were in a theater.

She sang in a way that

untethered me

re-centered me

took me out to sea

and brought me back to shore.

I cried until my mask was wet.

You squeezed my hand again.

I count in my mind

the last times I cried

I keep record to remind me-

there is life worth fighting for

love worth rising for

beauty worth crying for.


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Hi, thanks for stopping by!

I'm Sarah (Are) Speed, the writer behind Writing The Good. I'm so honored you're here! To get more poems, follow @writingthegood on Facebook and Instagram! 

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