Your Bike

By Ella Hilderbrand

I’ll never forget hearing your motorcycle park up on my driveway.

Or how you came running in,

to save me.

Holding me in this early morning,

from the problems of last night.

Throwing up the feelings of agony,

you holding my hair.

“I’m so sorry.”

Was all you could whisper as I painfully held onto the brim of all I could feel,

the edge of the counter.

The only kindness I could feel was your hands gently stroking my hair.

Wiping my tears away.

Hearing you draw the bath,

was the kindest action you could’ve ever said.

In that moment of time, I was beginning to wish I had listened to you the first time

when you asked;

“Will you be mine?”

By Ella Hilderbrand