Muffled by moonless drapes, her energy palpitates in snuffled beats like a foghorn lost in shipwreck history. A darkening swath of uncertainty suffocates illusions.... normally a reliable escape from the phantoms of rejection. The resin of bare truth lays at her feet. Its lingers. Remnants of old sex.
The jingling of her keys break the silence of her homecoming. As she places it inside the lock and turns her wrist, she hears the one click echo of her empty apartment. The door opens to darkness. She kicks off her shoes relieving her pinched feet that once delighted in wearing dainty shoes and takes in a stumbling breath of disappointment. Then, she listens..........
Brooding spirits whine through eaves soaked by the unrelenting rain and swarm the lingering damp air. One lit candle projects their stretched out shadows Solitude, sprinkled with doubt turns into a melancholic aria. It's sound is all too familiar. Refreshed hunger grumbles. Tonight, the haunting violin plays inside a teardrop. Its sweet innocence is lost in the reality that despite her best efforts, she has returned home alone again from her night out at the dance hall with the girls.
ps. Inspired by an hour spent at a local bar last fall that was filled with lonely hearts and hopeful middle aged dreams. It was an eye opening experience.... one that filled me with the memories of the "stories" I could feel emanating from the people all around me. That night, I got home and wrote 20 pages in my journal..... created vignettes from my imagination and gut reaction to what I had observed and felt.