Snowy Winter Sundays in Empty Cafés
Written at work on a dead Sunday, just pretty, trite scribbles
“For the widows in Paradise, for the fatherless in Ypsilanti.”
Each person is a reflection of another, we’re all water and mirrors.
Reflections rippling with the affect of the last soul upon ours.
(Quote is a song title from Sufjan Stevens)
---
With open eyes and open ears
we face our fears.
No one told you it would be this hard.
She’s got a lock in one hand and she throws the key to her heart
Into the black, sink into the sea,
She bids it never to resurface
because she can’t face the dark of the loneliness she carries when you’re not here.
“For the widows in Paradise, for the fatherless in Ypsilanti.”
Each person is a reflection of another, we’re all water and mirrors.
Reflections rippling with the affect of the last soul upon ours.
(Quote is a song title from Sufjan Stevens)
---
With open eyes and open ears
we face our fears.
No one told you it would be this hard.
She’s got a lock in one hand and she throws the key to her heart
Into the black, sink into the sea,
She bids it never to resurface
because she can’t face the dark of the loneliness she carries when you’re not here.