Half Luck

Katie never kept anything because between keeping things and letting go, letting go left less room for looking back and looking back is painful.
So when she found herself in yet another situation where she was going to have to let go, she was ready because she had had a lot of practice. Then he told her that she could keep half of his luck.
No. No, she thought. Throw it away like you did with the ends of shoelaces, handwritten pencil letters in your drawers, songs made just for you on shiny CD’s, and stardust cobwebs on your heart. Throw it away like you have to throw away

fast cars through beach towns with illegal parking jobs
clumsy fingers, nylon strings
hand in hand electricity across a dance floor made
for leather soles and weathered souls
blended voice melodies like cannons in the sky that
break the ice on a shooting star, wishing across the sky like
the ice blended drinks that spilled across the floor into
laughter and 2 AM conversations about how
beautiful she was.
Like the thought of a whisper in the middle of the afternoon when her chest was full of the things
she’d let go – a prayer that it was going to be okay.
Throw it all away. Throw it away like it doesn’t feel like stepping all over wildflowers or searing your hand on the kitchen stove. Like you’ve lost a piece of what you’re looking for.

She was ready, ready, ready, unprepared and breaking but ready until he gave her that last thing to drown all her hope in. Half luck. Wouldn’t that mean three and a half years of walking under ladders for the both of them? Or did he have so much heart that the cup would always stay half full?
Half full still meant half hungry and half hungry could mean half starving again. She was thirsty for reckless abandon into twilight hours. She knew to get it one day, after he went away forever, that she’d need to be really, hopelessly lucky. But for now she’d take all the luck she could get.

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