The Valley Below

Something buzzes in my ear, a distant alarm, such a warm sun shining in my face and I fell asleep with this thick sweater on, how uncomfortable. I reach for the phone, find my bed full of computer cords and glasses, my head creaks like an old tin man and what time is it anyway? The night got so long, and yet not nearly long enough, I never wanted it to end, I didn't want to go home, now here I am with this headache and I don't regret it one bit.

Last night, we stood on that square, with different directions home, reluctant to go. I thought a few weeks from now it will be light at this hour, and I could feel my body smile in remembrance. We had another cigarette, listened to the quiet of the normally so busy street, that quiet is always my favorite part of any night, how glad I was that we didn't have to part ways, just yet, that I did not have to go home.

What have I done? she said, as the bar began thinning out, the soundtrack turning up. If we had gotten married eight years ago, I could have been happy now. Different, but fine. The train of thought goes nowhere, we stare into our drinks and know she is right. There's a million uses out there, who made the other choice, who took the other road, we can't hold them responsible that we are here, at this bar, in this empty apartment, in this cold city, with no money in the bank, with a head full of ideas, full of ache, with this tightly wrapped heart, we cannot blame them.

We are here now. Let us make the most of that, instead.