The Little Things by Carly Racklin

All of my Love by Alex Garant
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The Little Things

Tomorrow’s dust flares up, lets out its first breath
from the mouth of the sun, turning
over and over itself,
a pit in a peach-colored sky.
And I have no one to wake up before.

Your name is summer, is sweet
at the back of my throat.
Just like that, just when I forget
everyone I meet points you out,
a pink stain on the neck of my shirt.

Mornings are evenings without you
painted in the fumbling of elbows and flickers
of your eyes in the mirror next to mine.
I long for those moments of accidentally
grabbing the wrong toothbrush.

I wonder, how many
fragments of you are scattered across this city?
Your hair, a flaxen web on the wall.

I like to imagine
that your coffee is always too sweet
when you make it without me.
That you make too much
for just yourself.
I like to imagine
that somewhere, in the network of drains below us
the leftovers of our lives
are rotting away together.

Sometimes I think I see you
in your mother’s woven hat
swaying on the concrete, in café windows,
smiling into a stranger’s lips.
But it is never you.

Your absence is lazy, always dragging
its feet and fighting me
for headspace, leg room under the blankets,
those still, silent moments before falling asleep;
it whispers sweetly in the dark
to me.

Like you said, it’s the little things that matter most.
And the memory of you is still you,
even if some parts are missing.
Even if I can never get your smile right,
it’s better than nothing.
Isn’t it?

Carly Racklin

Born and raised in New Jersey, Carly Racklin loves stories of all kinds, but is passionate about the fantastical and visceral. When not writing or drawing, Carly can be found watching horror movies, taking pictures of birds, and plucking at her bass guitar. She is currently a student at Arcadia University, studying creative writing. Her work has appeared in The Misty Review. You can read more of her writing at: .