Whiskey was more than a word to her,
Much more than a drink.
It was the fragrance of love that once was.
It was the scar running across her cheek,
Her Pandora’s box of memories unheard off.
For year and years she wrapped around her the shadow of hope, of lust she reeked.
It was her own little secret to keep.
How she let her tears run dry, with every sip of whiskey.
My 16th Contribution to NaPoWriMo.
The challenge was – Day 18