London. January. 7:45pm
A bench possessed by a single gem
Thinking obsessing over a single thought.
Of the last argument they ever fought.

The saxophone player blowing his tune.
His only audience the shining moon.
Trying to earn some last needed dough
Wondering why he even puts on this dumb show
The other street acts already home
Now he stands, alone.

Southbank market nears to an end
Time runs out between two friends.
The spark has gone- the light is out
Now every mind is filled with doubt.

Her mind starts to wander as she contemplates
On all the things she has to complicate
A kiss, a hug, a humorous lie
Did they even try?
Her eyes start to fill with the water of a tear
She fails to keep her mind clear.

She stands up and leaves
Walks away.
She doesn’t know where she’s going
Or why. Or how. Or how long she can postpone
But she still walked. Alone.