Through tiny specks of freezing water,
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“It does,”
I hear her trembling voice
picked up by wind and smoke —
and sleepless night still holds her wrists
although we passed the afternoon already.
It’s evening.
Not cold, but rain insists on bringing shiver to my knees.
My sympathy is pouring from my both my pockets and my heart,
and I can’t stop the other one from being broken.
Contrasts of glass, and city, people, feeling lonely. We sit so close yet far away.
The grey concrete is angry colour
of mood we share —
along with sickly sweet unfitting for this occasion drink I bought with small discount.
So forlorn.
We leave that place,
and the ordeal of life still being a constant alternation will bring us there once more.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
I take a pause before I answer,
“It doesn’t, but it’s how it is.”