Julia
A red rose
sits on the window sill
where she used to sit and watch
the
world outside. The small fake fish
on sticks
are alone
now.
The empty buildings across the street
have started
to turn black from years of rain.
He sits there, on the
stoop as
children run past in the summer showers,
splashing
in the puddles
and chasing each other down the street.
He
watches the cars rush past.
Reminded of days past when they
used to have fun.
When they were together. Now it's
just him and the street lamps on an empty street
on a foggy
October night with only his lit cigarette
to keep him company.
The thought of what was, what could have been.
An
empty chair in the corner of their bed room stood by the window.
In
the late afternoon, the light hits it just so.
The
brick of the building is cold and covered in graffiti,
he notices
as he leans against it.
The alleyway is still dark.
No
one would notice a stranger in the shadows.
No one noticed
them before, laying in the street after a fight
except for her.
She would sit by the window
waiting for him to come
home. He now waits for her
in their old spot with a bouquet
of flowers
chain smoking until she decides to come.
The
park bench is a cold comrade.
She will not come, he decides.
She has left her window side perch, never to return.
He
drops the bouquet. The rose turns
from crimson to black as
he walks away.
