Image by AMagill via Flickr
The hallway buzzed artificial intelligence. Its naked lighting turning winter skin a harsher shade of death. An echo reverbed from slush crusted lug soles, leaving a sightly murky trail of life’s current existence.
The world stopped spinning me sideways when the air-filled with an olfactory song. Vision gone black, a blindsided pattern; years tripping backward until I sat next to you in a smokey den surrounded by Coltrane’s horn.
A pocket of memory captured me. Stuck in an alternate universe, a time warp, or was it sleepless mind-game? I passed through a dark mass, your mark of eternity; or was it simply someone who wore your leathered scent, mixed with Kentucky burn and cinnamon?
Sax floated away until I played on the sands of Van’s mystic, finding a note to loosen me. Hunting you down this hallowed hall, I only found sterile sounds and plastic smiles. Tightening, this flower’s sigh to heavy rains; folding tired arms to this angled frame. Colourless cinder blocks absorb me.
It’s almost my birthday. We almost missed it then; there was no reasoning from that frozen ledge. Your scrawl across an empty card started a fissure; cracking poorly cemented fears. I was too late. Hospitals offer no solace for we the living. There is little gesture in ‘I’m sorry” when the metal bed only holds your broken shell.
Tonight, I’ll close these hungry eyes; searching fluted caverns for that film playing our beginning. Perhaps tomorrow, I’ll transverse those slick tiles, seeking your silent echo. A string vibration, awakening the lost life that still remains. ~
