But I Wouldn’t Change A Thing

Photo by Tamara Badran on Unsplash

by Sally Simon

A tuft of cotton candy clung to your lips the night we met. Your friends laughed when I stumbled from the Tilt o’Whirl. “Stop it,” you warned before lending me your hand. I peeled the pink confection from your mouth, holding it in the air like a mother bird feeding its young. We reached for the stars atop the Ferris wheel and played games of chance until you won my heart. 

We didn’t know someday the ride would make us dizzy, the games would lose their sense of excitement, and I’d be balancing a spoon between parched lips, begging you to eat one more bite, while nurses take bets on who will be the first to fall from the nest.


Sally Simon lives in upstate New York where she sometimes obsesses over 100-word stories. When not writing, she travels the world. 


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