Walking in your shoes

Walking this way, clumsily, in your shoes. Pulling your coat tight around my neck. I smell your scent. A mix of Irish Spring, tobacco and confidence. I inhale longingly and am awash with emotions. I could drown. Here on the sidewalk. In a too big coat and oversized shoes. Rain washes away my tears, smears my mascara and masks my face. It cannot rinse away my fears. I wish I could dilute the rawness of it all. The sudden shot of noise. How you fell so fast. I long to become numb.

I walk on, aware enough to stop at the corners and not walk into traffic. Still, in my sadness, I obey. The sound of your shoes clunking up and down under my heels flood out the noises of the city. My toes cling to the fore of the heavy leather shoe, trying desperately not to lose grip on them. I do not want to lose anymore.

I am perplexed. I wonder.Why? I walk this way, in your shoes, through the rain. Dragging and pulling myself along, because I cannot stop. In the back of a parked car I think I see lovers entangled together. Is it you? Is it me? Far, far away, remotely I hear the sirens. The perplexing wailing that fills me with melancholic confusion. I plod along, making all that noise, with your shoes. I long for an encore.  Just once more to hear your voice. Just once more to give me a kiss. Once more.

Above me, on a high window ledge, sits a raven. “Nevermore,” it seems to caw. I am numb and you are nevermore.


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