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.