132 Queens Rd Station platform, 00:26am, December.
I waited for you for the first time, the doors opened, you walked toward me. You stopped, exhaled and told me to carry your coat.The aroma of stale smoke, cheap vodka and men’s cologne lingered. We left the station.
Serrated and metallic the piercing air cut through our silence. Yet we were at ease, contented by one another’s delicate presence. The only sound was that of sirens in the distance and the cracking of ice beneath our feet. No cash for a cab, we were guided by the bleak street lights which released a hollow light; The light caressed each fragment of snow suspended in the air.
01:56.
Unlocked the door and slouched down onto the ground. You reached into your coat and I watched the silhouetted elegance as you slowly destroyed what was left of yourself. You buried the despair deeper, hiding the sting so that you can finally be content. Walking on shards of glass, and deceased needles, yet there is no expression, no word. Neither are there bruises from the overwhelming defeat. Wounded, you tell me that it will always be that way. You lit up cigarettes and we talked until dawn.
05:53
This was the last time I would touch, see and hear you.
