Visits

I pulled the notes apart and counted them five deep, I took a taxi and went to her. I could not afford it but less could I afford to stay there. As I walked out I left the door open, left it open for the breeze to blow through, to circulate and cleanse, in vain hope fresh air would do some good. The floor was all strewn clothes and balled socks, the walls were post-it notes and torn photographs, articles I should have read and lists I long crossed through; the place was beyond hope. I nodded to the driver as I got in and mumbled a destination, he looked in his mirror as I looked out, my eyes staring numbly through the glass told him my conversation had all run dry. The waits at red lights, the hum of cars passing, strangers under streetlights with hoods pulled up and plastic bags, these were my companions. I painted scenes for all these bypassers, filled in the blanks of why they, like me, chose to be up at this time. An hour passed and we pulled up, headlights splashed my shoes as I got out, the throb and glow of the night passers background noise to this transaction. He said goodnight as he left, but it was too late for that. As I walked to the door the security bulb flicked on, I read the numbers on the buzzers and sat down on the step. Someone had left some discarded mail by the door. I rang the doorbell and a light came on. This is what being in love is.