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Our Ceasing Voice
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One Of These Nights
Spring had come and the last snow was black with dirt and poison.
People everywhere seemed slow,
and behind their sunglasses
they were hiding the hollowness that one too many winters leave in everyone.
The days passed slowly yet darkness came fast
and, while the thin coffee in his dirty cup went from cool to cold,
he sat quietly and rolled another cigarette. It always got so quiet then.
Once again, he would watch the ceiling and dream about freedom,
hoping to see the past and the future in some perfect wedding march.
If only he could really close his eyes,
he could live in a dream and not in this constant fear of never really being awake.
'Do you miss me', she said.
But he can only hear the surface of things. He's unaware of the true absence of her voice.
Her eyes would forever shine to him as he sees her blowing him a kiss from a train.
Maybe one of these nights she'll finally step down from that giant ghost and whisper:
'Come on, let's dance.'
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