Lonely Lot

Lonely parking lot

Sometimes, you need to get out­side. Dodge the drunks stum­bling through the halls, the peo­ple stand­ing and wait­ing for their groups, the famil­iar faces. Maybe because it’s snow­ing out­side, and you don’t want to miss it, when the sky aches the same orange as you do.

This isn’t your scene, but there’s no one to back you up, so you smile and nod. Fake kiss­es and oblig­a­tory hugs, think­ing, “I don’t know you, and I nev­er will”. A façade to appear nor­mal, when mem­o­ries come flood­ing back. Sitting alone at a table, won­der­ing why you came in the first place. Times with­out a per­son to make you a promise. Moments with oth­er peo­ple’s wives, because he’s secure like that, and wish­ing for noth­ing else. Walking these halls alone the way you’re doing now. Memories you wish were a lit­tle more dis­tant. Maybe you’ll come back one day, and break even, or maybe even come out ahead.

Until then, your indif­fer­ence will keep you alive.

Sometimes you need to take a pic­ture of some­thing, any­thing, because noth­ing you see here is how you feel, and it’s the only way you can scream.

Maybe it’s not so much out­side, where you’re run­ning, as away.

2 comments

  1. Can’t tell you how many fire escapes, stair­wells, attics, and rooftops have served this pur­pose for me.

  2. That reminds me of the scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, when Paul Varjak and José da Silva Pereira escape the ridicu­lous par­ty down a fire escape. There was always a cer­tain roman­ti­cism in it.

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