✤ Adrian ✤
Two years was a long time to carry a ghost. I knew that now, as I sat in my now favorite little café, Bell's. I glanced down at the single paper in my hand and waited for my turn to read. Bell's was small, warm, and filled with the low murmur of voices. Coffee cups clinked against saucers. Someone laughed softly near the counter. A few familiar faces nodded at me as they passed, regulars who had come to these readings often enough to recognize me.
This had become my quiet ritual.
Poetry nights were never about crowds or applause. They were about release. About saying things out loud that had nowhere else to go. Editing novels online paid the bills and kept my mind sharp, but poetry was where I placed the pieces of myself that still needed air. I stood when my name was called
