I scratched your initials inside my locker, to touch you each day between classes. I spoke your name under my breath; formed you with my lips, tasted you on my tongue.

You were diner coffee and cigarettes. A baggy black t-shirt meeting low-slung jeans on sharp hips.

That space in-between.

Jean Buie is a lawyer by trade who loves to write fiction and creative non-fiction. She lives in Toronto, ON with her family and her dog, Grimm.