Gavin Austin
Migratory
It seems so wrong to wake to an empty pillow beside me. Your fault, I tell the image in the mirror as I stumble to the bathroom. A pall of resentment hangs accusingly. The ghosts of long, lingering breakfasts in bed circle and hum in the flicker of fluorescent lighting. Memories crowd and cower in the darkness of the vanity cupboards. It is better to forget, I figure, now that you are in a sunnier place. Our sweet moments ruptured and bleeding out, with barely a photograph to capture the masks we wore for each other.
on a bare branch
the song the songbird
leaves behind
About the Author
Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. Gavin writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.
Imagery rich, just enough left unsaid. I see the bare branch and hear the song. Thank you.
Many thanks for your generous thoughts here, Mike.
Much appreciated.
Gavin