Disclaimers in part one.



Notes C: Chorus



The lights are different sometimes, the lights are red or green or the yellow of old gold, doubloons in a pirate's chest.

There is no gold in my chest. I'm all broken, and patched, and stitched awkwardly back together.

"I can't talk to you right now," he says, putting on his coat as I come in the door. "You go back out that door, I'm leaving."

There is a why in my posture.

"I'm tired of waiting for you to go off. I'm tired of waiting for everything to settle down so I can go off. I'm going out, and I'm going to have fun, and you can just be the one wondering for once."

There is hesitant, wary, okay, in my expression.

I go back out the door, he locks up, walks past me. Doesn't even look back to see what I'm doing.

He knows.

I'm just standing there, waiting for him.

And the chords peter out, and the violins stop. The double bass lasts a little longer, but that's all.

That's all.

There's no way to stop this. There is no protest.



End notes.



End.