Up on the hotel ledge I stand looking at the late evening moon as another piece of the world chips off and spins away never to be seen again. The rock I stand on no longer as solid as it turns to sand and tears beneath my feet. I watch it helplessly, the shrink, the implosion, the light upon the darkling sea, the loss and lost.
I know the words but I don’t want to say them. You know the words but you don’t want to hear them. But here are the words I don’t want to say and you don’t want to hear.
Who cares? It is only truth.
All these words – ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’ She said and not just the drink. And all the other things said from the heart, honest, meant, and true from each around the table - and seemingly so easily to empty like a bottle of wine. No more jokes.
Time is a great healer. Time is a grand prover. It will take time for wounds to heal, same time for wounds to fester, poison, kill. The moon shines on as it always has and always will, dim parody of the beauty of the sun; but beautiful still the same.
And who know which words will be spoken next?
I love you?