Sunday, 28 March 2010

Stretching For Something (Out of Reach)

"You remember those days?"

I nodded. It was an era ago, maybe seventeen years, but that didn't matter. We had been together that summer, him and I. There were others. They didn't matter.

He hugged the glass with his fingers, kissed the whiskey with his lips, and wept like a child lost.

"Yeah, those were the days."

He might not have heard my words over his hollow, racking shudders, but he didn't need to hear them. Seventeen years, and we had carried on. As if nothing had happened. As if no one suffered for it. Seventeen years, and the silence killed us while we laughed, and danced, and drank, and lied, and cheated, and played as if nothing had happened. Why weren't we afraid of what we had done?

"Enough." He wiped his tears away, and downed another shot of whiskey as he stood up to go. He looked me in the eye, and crumbled through the doorway, as the wind swept him into his car. The horns announced his departure when the tree stood firm in his way. I stood there shivering, in the cold without a friend.

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