One of those mornings…

Wake up, reach up, reaching on switch for the stereo. Grey and miserable, music to bump start the day. The Boss tells me ” I guess I been sleepin’ in your bed too long, Y’been planning to do me wrong”
That’s it. Trapped.
Another day, another way to blame for the wrongs, another to blame for the chills.
I would cry now. Long. Hard. Clear and loud in sufferance.
Could you, would you hear me? If a lover cries in the forest and love is not there, do they make any sound?
To have, hold a beautiful thing, only, she cries in the night. Her needs spoil her beauty. Muddied river. Muddied as yesterdays Rainstorm flooding. Sheets of silver water reflecting clear sky, underneath, topsoil slipping away. Occasional spots of light fish surfacing, enticing, then gone into the gloom.
Why do we go on? This anger that never finds tongue? She loves me, she loves me not, and she loves me not… To hold a beautiful beautiful thing, pared down close to the bone, the meat. Wanting to say your name, feeling you close, breath on my skin. Knowing that you are gone.
There’s a thought, growing. Realisation that maybe, just maybe all is not what it seems not all that we thought it could be. Dreams of youth, lead to this?
We are not little children. We know what we want. I forget now, but my guess is love is all about control. A brief sentence (exact wording escapes me) you were saying “It’ll be alright, I’ll love you forever” Behind the words I could hear tunnels being dug, leap over the wire being prepared. Preparing to escape me, Us. Escaping after maybe a hundred passion moments more.

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