Saturday, March 3, 2012

Slow regret...

The sunshine through the screen smells of slow regret.  Of listless malaise.  It is an acrid smell, like the whiff of garbage through an open window.  She sits with head in hands, thick hair in clenched fists.  Again and again and again.  The air is stale and slow.  Her mind plods on as she reads and reads the same pages she has read a thousand times before.

Time is meaningless.  Laughter ricochets off the walls of the brick buildings that surround her.  Cheers dart like swallows and she swallows the lump in her throat, wondering what they are cheering for.  Trying to remember when she had something to cheer about.

Her arms can still feel the warm touch of flannel.  She can smell the cigarette smoke and sweat.  The smells reach into her and spark the twinge of sadness that marks her days.  She pours a glass of wine and tries to ignore the coming of a new day.  But it is the evening air, taunting.


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