My Sadness Killed the Herring Gull

(The tension in the chest. Eyes darting; busying themselves when all they hunger for is the image of her. A bird soars above the street and waits for the big creatures to leave their rubbish behind and go home, or wherever they go. A solitary man stands by a old, dead statue. He looks the clock. The bells ring through the sour, icy air.)

…stood out in the freezing winter street…how was it ever summer?…when we promised to meet here again, all those years ago…as the sky changed complexion; from peach to India ink?…did you fall out of time and miss me saying it?…did you miss me saying that I would wait?…

…hundreds of tomorrows have crawled by between then and now…and maybe you never dreamed of this day like I did…and maybe, rather than sat in the back of a cab on your way here, you’re cuddled up to some good-looking man…and smudge my self-esteem while you’re about it…

…perhaps you think of me every now and again…as you clear out the cupboards of your heart…and perhaps you chuckle to yourself…as though back then you were just a silly, little girl…but I’m here…after all these years…and I’m waiting for you…my love…and my cold flesh is nothing compared to the winter growing inside me…

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