She said to me, over the phone… She wanted to see other people. I thought, well then, look around. They’re everywhere. Said that she was confused… I thought, darlin’, join the club. 24 years old, mid-life crisis. Nowadays hits you when you’re young. I hung up, she called back, I hung up again. The process had already started. At least it happened quick. I swear I died inside that night. A friend, he’d called, I didn’t mention a thing… The last thing he said was “be sound”. Sound… I contemplated an awful thing, I hate to admit. I just thought those would be such appropriate last words… But, I’m still here, and small. So small… How could this trouble seem so big? So big… Well the palms in the breeze still blow green. And the waves in the sea still absolute blue. But the horror… Every single thing I see is a reminder of her. Never thought I’d curse the day I met her… And since she’s gone, and wouldn’t hear. Who would care? What good would that do? But I’m still here. So I imagine in a month or 12. I’ll be somewhere having a drink, laughing at a stupid joke or just another stupid thing… And I can see myself stopping short, drifting out of the present. Sucked by the undertow and pulled out deep… And there I am standing. Wet grass and white headstones, all in rows. And in the distance there’s one off on it’s own. So I stop, kneel. My new home. And I picture a sober awakening… A re-entry into this little bar scene. Sip my drink till the ice hits my lip… Order another round. And that’s it for now. Sorry. Never been too good at happy endings.
I’m still here
