this is not where i want to be tonight.
tonight, i would rather be anywhere else but here. here, up. away. going away from her. from my life. from anything resembling anything i once knew or wanted to know. anywhere else but here, looking out the little window, the little round window with the little shade with the handle that i can pull down when they tell me to so everyone else could sleep.
i would rather be anywhere but here.
they sent me away. told me not to come back. pushed me away from her, from my life. i had her then, we were together. we sat together that morning under the willow tree on the bank of the river and ate peaches together. together we were not here. but the river is gone, and the morning is gone. they are both not here.
here i am sitting alone and it is time for me to go away and not look back and the stern woman looks at me as she walks past and tells me not to look back and i don't. i stare right ahead, ahead to a place and i am no longer here. i stare ahead and watch my hands and her hands in my hands as we sat there that morning and watched the dew glisten on the grass as we ate and the sun sat low in the sky and the breeze blew the leaves off the trees.
my eyes drift closed and i can smell the peaches in the air, the crickets in the tall grass, and the breeze blowing the rustling of the leaves. my eyes are heavy and when they close i am not here, i am somewhere else. i don't think about where i'm not, because i am here, where the air smells sweet, where i had forgotten what she smells like until i close my eyes and it comes back, all comes back. and i remember. remember what it was like when i was there, and she was there. and neither of us was here.
and as quickly as i started, as i remember what she was like, being there next to her, eyes closed, her smell, her just being. it ends. and i turn, eyes opened and look down at the lights below, through the little window with the shade, as i look down below
she is there down there with the lights.
and i am here.