One is a solo no one wants to perform
"Table for one, please..." still haunts her as a candle flickers over her bittersweet wine, but it cannot catch the gleam of his warm brown eyes. There is no one to drink to now, even her dinner selection mocks her with the complicated Menu...men-you?? so many choices abound, but nothing that suits her. She sits surrounded by stereo couples their romantic whispers echoing like the roar of the subway alone on a two seater, home to an empty bed. The clock ticks her off, cause tonight there is no one to talk to, The phone is a mime, white faced and silent. The late show is another damned romance electronic passion, as she lies prone to tears, a satellite dish floating in the empty void of dark space... shows her all that she is missing. Sleep eludes her, its sweet dreams died a week ago, so she huddles on her balcony chaise lounge, wrapped in a blanket still carrying the scent of his absence and watches the city far below, simply go on without her.
© 2009 Matthew Frederick Blowers III