When he lights my cigarette I can see the world spinning away from us in a fiery flash right in front of my face. For some time now, I have had this feeling in my bones like I want to break free but the trouble is I can never seem to pin point what from. That part matters but people don’t ever seem to think about it. They go on and on about freedom but they don’t have a clue what’s got them trapped to begin with let alone why they want it that way.
The corner of his pretty mouth curls in half a smirk when he tells me I think too much and I let his arrogance fall to the pavement with the ash of my smoke because there is no response to that, or at least none which can be of any use. There are parts of my soul which will always be restless and though that may sound sad to some, it’s a comfort to me because I like the way it flutters and beats in my chest, like the melancholy echo of an ancient secret which will stand the test of eternity and yet is mine and mine alone.
There is a deadness in his eyes which cuts ice through my veins. Life has destroyed something in him which he doesn’t seem to want back and I can’t decide if I need or don’t need him to resurrect. If I look too closely, I am afraid I will find out his emptiness is merely a reflection of my own, so I turn away and draw my gaze across the fog which rolls out thick as a wall of stone, hovering just above the choppy waters of the swollen river.
Leaning over the cold steel railing, I take a long drag and imagine disappearing into the white clouded remains of the somber early morning. I want to be larger than this life of listless indifference others seem content to be threaded into. The weather turned suddenly cool overnight when the storm slammed through. There is a spiced scent in the air, a promise of things to come but no promise that we will have any idea what to do with them.
He faces away from me, sips his coffee and talks about something I do not pretend to hear.