Her face etched with lines of time,
she sat next to us on a bench,
the breeze whipping through her thin skin.
She clutched a bottle of cheap vodka,
taking long, comforting sips;
eyes, filled with sadness and a hint of defiance,
drifting towards the overcast sky.

“He was so fit,” she murmured, soft and low,
a tiny smile, a flicker, a fleeting glow.
“Vietnamese, Thai or Taiwanese. I think,” she said,
“But he was so fit, all muscle, all ahead.”
she said taking another deep sip.

She recalled the young woman she was,
all life, no care, some hope.
A woman captivated by the allure of a strong,
magnetic male. A man full of promise
who had lived the harsh realities of life;
she thought she was where she belonged.

“And I was young. Damn young. And a fool!”
she continued, her voice filled with regret.
“He saw it before anybody else,
‘Darling, if you want a future,
you have to leave this in the past.’
And it was that time the prick
was becoming my shared present!”

“Oh man,” she said, her voice breaking,
“you said you loved me.
One more time, just one more jab.
Here, the last one.”

He left
no word behind
no trace, no sound,
her heart shattered, lost and unbound.
And he became a woman’s tale,
of love and loss,
a bitter memory, a heavy cross.
One more stab!