A meal and a book, all this loner needs for the night. The food was good, the book was better. He finishes the former then politely asks for the bill, it’s past closing. The dues are payed and his journey back home begins.
Regret is already seething in his heart after communicating with his muse through BBM, face-to-face is overrated apparently. ‘Am I too clingy? Should I put things off, stop communicating?’These thoughts fester unrelenting in the pit of his bowels. The funny is that the muse is possibly oblivious, and if things keep going the way they are, she’ll remain that way, unknowingly breaking his heart just like the others.
He leaves the restaurant, lightening strikes, life is white. He quickly opens his umbrella. The direction, south, toward the subway, toward home. Songs lyrics haunting my every step:
I’m the failure
I’m everyone’s fool
And I’m losing my cool at the end
I’m the loser
My number’s come up
I’ve been hung up with thoughts of
He passes a homeless man sitting under the alcove of a storefront, he had managed to stay out of the rain but there were drops by his feet, just by his feet, had he been crying? Tears overshadowed by the downfall, without a person to notice the self-loathing they just stepped on as they quickly pass by.
He exits the subway, still mulling over the interactions of his muse as well as what he had been reading. The protagonist Jonathan A. shared similarities with this young man, striking similarities, only time will tell what this signifies.
She was home alright— with her new boyfriend. It hit me hard. Like an axe.
He waits for a streetcar, lightening strike and once again, but just for a moment, life is white. An older couple without an umbrella look around as if lost, they ask which street they were on. They were dressed as if to go to the symphony, such a waste to see them get wet. All he said in reply was “Queen,” and handed them the umbrella, they walk away arm in arm as he slowly feels the weight of the drops above him. If only the gesture would unburden the weight from his heart.
As the streetcar comes he fumbles for his month pass, his hands are slippery when wet. He sits in the back and tries to look unassuming, as if using some sort of camouflaging technique. A few stops down a women in what appeared to be in her early forties sits next to him. She was carrying an instrument and wore what appeared to be some sort of uniform. He makes a point of striking up conversation but his stop is announced before he could work up the courage. He silently exits.
The few last steps to the apartment seemed to take a lifetime but eventually he entered the building, leaving behind a trail of wet steps and pieces of his shattered heart.
As he enters the elevator he notices a women opening her mailbox, the doors close before the thought of leaving them open for her occurs. He inserts his key in the lock, turns it and opens the door. The window was left open but no rain had managed to enter through it. He shuts the window and turns on the fan. Laying in bed, a mind overfilled with thoughts and emotions, he is unsure.