He died on a Friday night. No rain, no snow; just an ordinary Friday night. 11:55 to be exact. Five more minutes and he would have died on a Saturday. He didn't leave behind much... nothing tangible that is. But there was a girl. She now sits alone filling oceans with her salty tears. He promised her he'd come back; that no matter what, somehow, he'd return even if just for a moment. She's crying because he hasn't. People pity her. "I'm so sorry," they say. Sorry? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Sorry is something you say when you take someones parking place or lose the book they loaned you. Not when someone dies. Just shut up. She misses him terribly. Everything brings back a memory; that song on the radio, that shirt... even that movie which you both hated so much. And then one day he shows up. Well, not him exactly... but close. The same hair, the same eyes, even the same voice. It couldn't be. Damn it, he's gone!! And he's not coming back no matter what stupid promises he made. He was such an idiot. She slices her wrist. How dare you speak of him that way! She grabs a towel to stop the blood. Why did you do that? Slit my wrist or grab the towel? You know. She reaches for her bottle of pills. One...two...three... Why stop there? You've done this before. Try again, try harder. It doesn't work. It never does. Face it, you can't die. You work for the dead now. Forget that and you can forget it all. She feels a hand on her shoulder. It's not him...but close. God, you look so much like him! What does this mean? He just stands there for a moment and then smiles. "I'll be back," he whispers as he walks away. Without a sound, without a word, he dissappears from view permanently. They really were alike.
Reason for writing:
I hope that someone out there understands this poem.
If you couldn't tell, it's what you would call an anecdote.
Birth sign: Not entered
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