Time is an old story teller,
he is all-knowing and all-seeing.
An old diner that sits in the west under an illuminated open sign,
holds the most twisted relationship there ever was.
Black coffee sits in an old ***** white mug,
false smiles highlight the masks of the two,
pastries gather together on an ugly dish.
Crumbs collect on their laps as they sit in their unhappiness.
Her skirt rumpled, his jeans creased,
her makeup smeared, his beard unshaven.
His wandering eyes, her lips turned towards the table,
their glumness leaves a distasteful air in the vacant restaurant.
Together they sit alone,
the rock clasped to her finger, a symbol of their struggle.
The man shudders in the cold, stands up, and walks away.
She does not follow.
Her coffee has become ice cold.
And yet the clock on the wall
just
keeps
ticking.