remember when i told you i was working on a few new writing pieces?
how they aren't really stories or poems
but little glimpses into lives?
well, here is one.
There was only a pool of soft snow around the gutter of an empty road.
The streetlamp was on and he walked towards it with his dark bowler hat pulled down over his eyes, following the shadow as it fell smaller and smaller until at last he was standing under the beam of the thing. The exact spot, unexposed and vulnerable.
What if she didn’t come? What if this was all he had now? The thoughts clung to him and swirled around him like bits of newspaper in the air, words written all over them, words that made no sense at all.
Who would desert him? He thought to himself. But perhaps it was not the right question. He waited and waited but the only noise was the snow falling on the lapels of his coat and the soft rush of the water underneath the road and without the sounds of tires in the slush of the damp, cold night he knew it was over before the world did. Before she did.
He retreated as he had come, following the shadow as it grew this time; farther from any path he had ever wandered, into the forest on the outskirts of town.