Some things never change
How much could it matter to be that broke? The launched starch of a man that walked along remembered the feeling of wind. He remembered the idea of red balls and kites. There was a jangle somewhere and his stomach rumbled even more. How could he expect identification to his plight? What was he owed by those who walk down to the coalmines? What has his body done to repay what God had forgotten about his smile?
In his anxious approach to be there he mumbled, "I love you. I never stopped loving you. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't clench my fist and raise it to God and wish, no BEG, for just to smell your hair in the morning as a breeze blows in. Just to see you wake up and tell me that we have 'plans'." She was confused at the way his eyes looked. She thought he was lying. She thought he was insane. He was both. He was lonely and she was the only thing that he knew how to not be lonely with. She wanted to leave and uproot herself from his stare. She wanted to run into the arms of another man that was standing 20 yards away. She touched his cheek and pretended to cry the same way. He shuttered and she sighed. The circle of the American nothing was now complete.
She's going to let it out one day. She's going to let all pour out. Princes and Kings are all on paper but paupers and pushers in her bedroom. She's going to keep her own destiny one day. She'll have it wrapped up on pink tissue paper and hidden in something more elegant than a shoebox, but still not lined with satin. She's going to discover what it was to become to be her. She's going to let it out and like a disease finds a nose or a cold finds the hot window, something else will know what it is to be her body.
She jumped back like she had been electrocuted by something as powerful as love. She jumped back and thought that this might be the only time in her life that she had seen God. God? No answer came from the man in front of her. She hadn't really moved her mouth any way. God would be able to hear her without reverb. She loved the way black looked on blue. She loved the way her tan thigh used to look draped over his thigh in the summer morning when they would breath the same air. God? The man in front of her turned. "Is this your floor?" She stepped by him and shyly muttered, "Yes." The man winked and while the doors were closing said, "Thought so."
