September was still warm: not as hot as the breath in my ear whispering your name. I looked around. For you, for whoever. Only there when I wasn't looking. Nothing to see: just coke cans crushing and cracking brittle leaves as the wind skimmed both across the pavement. Still, for the past week I had been turning to look for you, although I knew you wouldn't be there.
We should have had a year. One of Frank's very good ones: for drinking the wine: to the dregs. We laughed 'til we cried, ejected from the DLR for dancing to cheesy music from your Ipod. A poem, a kiss, a night and then over. Without starting. It seemed I was hurting you without quite knowing how. The months went by I didn't phone you, you didn't e-mail me.
The sun went out when you went in search of it in April. A fortnight's eclipse in my skyline.
I had pictures. Not the same; not even hundreds on my wall. I took one a day from May through June; you didn't know. I didn't care. July; warm and sultry July: Julie's month – and mine. We were close again at last. My kisses didn't tell you that I loved you. And you couldn't return them. It wasn't to be. It wasn't to be me.
It wouldn't be anyone then.
August was cool for you. I kept you fresh – on ice.
But in September the whispering started, and I had to look over my shoulder.
Comments
FTSE100 | August 2, 2008 - 23:47
In October you were past your use-by date and beginning to smell... They really don't keep for long, do they? Or is this one your first?
Nice story, and I believe every word of it sir.
capoeiragem | August 4, 2008 - 13:27
I love what you've done with this. Like the way the story unfolds in short impressionistic bursts, with some really great passages. Some wonderful details as well, loved the lines 'the sun went out when you went in search of it in April. A fortnight's eclipse in my skyline', and the idea of the pictures, taken secretly 'one a day from May through June'. Really pleased to have inspired such a fine piece, thanks!