Just a Sigh

Everyday my life begins again. Each morning I wake to the sound of wheels on linoleum. I am a stranger in this city. The hallways are always freshly bleached. The smell of antiseptic ushers their arrival. The gentle chatter and jangling of keys, these are the sounds of the young who know so little pain. And we are so old inside, enduring an eternity where dogs roam nightly. They hunt down our dreams. But these dogs are us, and all we have seen.

We are wanderers in our own unfolding story where the ending will never be written now; we are unfinished, left hanging, a mere suicide dream, longing for release, to soar above roofs and bridges of this piss-stained city, and its concrete streets of bottled dreams.

I’m still waiting for your call. Just a sign. Something to tell me you still care. When you last came, I could not tell you how near and yet far from this broken land you were; even when your hand touched these fields of glass that keep everything apart, I could not let you see the reflection in this ruined tower.

They administer another drug with a smile. Nausea is just a way of life now. They reassure me it’s for my own good. But it never takes away the regret. You said you would never leave. But time holds us apart. If I close my eyes, I am momentarily removed from time and space and all its wild complications. Into shuttered rooms with a kiss, where I hold you, as you lay and embrace the pain. Sometimes when they ask me what’s wrong, I say nothing, it’s just a sigh.

I sit and watch Bogart and Bergman on the small screen they allow us to see, wishing they were us; wishing you would return. We would ride through the rain of a foggy London town, away from the dogs, to where the sun shines. We would live like stars in our own silver screen, knowing the lines, where the spotlight shines only for us, away from the grime and government schemes; in the back of hired cars, or with stolen moments in Parisian parks. You’d never leave again. I’d never let you.

 

A Foggy Day (in London Town), Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

© 2017 The Wasted Love Song
In response to daily prompt: Foggy

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