Thirty Days Of Julia: Day Twenty-Nine

Literature or litter? As I walked home,
I scattered pages along the street. Black
and white lost in the grey of gathering fog.
Each step took me deeper into gloom born
of existential despair. The whole world
reduced to the pavement beneath my feet.
All else created and destroyed in swirls
of cold moisture that tinselled my hair with
frost. That she had admired my fiction was
not enough. Words that only she and I
had shared: gone into the gutter without
any sense of loss. Instead, I was freed
from the burden of her expectation.
Though the fog never cleared. Not from my head.