As I walk these streets, the faces which I see are not me; For I am old. Passerbyers walk quickly through me...knocking the wind right out of me.
Shuttling back and forth with absolute fortitude from point A to B. Be thus as it may, the showers precipitate before the flowers bloom in May. Pointed hats, and scarves keep the people dry.
I, Myself prefer the rain in March. I should have placed gloves over my hands...hands who have been a witness to atrocities of an inhuman kind.
Calibrated, and quick, my fingertips are a bit numb. The skin overlaid on top my hands is no longer resilient to this kind of weather. It pulls so easily away from the bone.
I don't mind the matter in which bruises occur as frequently, but I do mind the way in which he left me...He placed me under house arrest.
I walk these streets his prisoner! I love to taste the rain, the way that it scorches the tip of my tongue with promises of a new.
It is all so primitive the way in which we conduct ourselves...I mean the people on the streets, and the poor way in which we conduct ourselves as people.
The faces of others are transparent to me; For I replace them for a me which should have been. Then, I would not have to walk these streets alone. I see him where I ought not.
I scour at the thought. But It just leaves me empty, to a love never wrought with emotion or tenderness, nor generosity. I love the taste of the rain drops on the tip of my tongue.
The tip of my tongue against the tip of his. But, they soon leave as does everything else comforting. It's overwhelming his kiss was. A powerful force who walked on it's own.
I was never in denial of the sway It had over me. Oh God, why must I still suffer so after all of these years. A heart so down trodden.
I fill my days up with whatever, as to try, and forget what should have been. As a younger self, I thought what will be...will be, but I scream now at the thought of It.
Holding on for just another empty tomorrow. Working myself to exhaustion! Exhausted at the thought of waking up on another day alone, without him. What will be is; Unanswered Prayers.
A predetermined fate for which I cannot escape. Each day that I walk these streets it is a constant reminder of a past gone wrong. A life not to spare.
I thought that beauty alone would keep him. Keep him by my side. But, I was wrong. Betrayed by my Ideas. I am old now, And I hear the echos of an aging woman.
I cry out to be heard, but it is all in vain.