T.H. Mini Series

L.P; Our Song

Spring. The air is thick with the heady scents of blooms and freshly cut grass. Birds twitter above you but you pay them no mind. You walk along the river, heels clicking softly against the pavement.

There is a small boy and his mother feeding the ducks and swans. He laughs with delight as he chucks the crumbs at the birds. His mother is singing something to him, but you can't quite it make out. You are about to ask her what she's singing when the words stick in your throat.

Sometimes when the sky is clear blue
Sometimes I can hear you,
Singing to me

The boy's brown curls turn auburn in the sun, his eyes bright with excitement and delight as he smiles at his mother, wrapping his arms around her neck. It's like you've been struck by a freight train, the crushing sensation of hopelessness washing over you, leaving you breathless.

But lately, part of me just crumbles
Every time I hear that melody

You hurry past, biting your lip as you fight back tears.

You lock yourself in the apartment, rushing to the kitchen for a bottle of wine.

You don't bother with a glass.

You light a cigarette and watch it burn through the haze of your tears. When it burns out you light another.

And another.

And another.

It is dark by the time you run out of cigarettes.

The wine has been drunk.

Two more bottles opened.

It doesn't matter
If your heart's new broken
If we haven't spoken in a year

You're a fool, you think morosely. A stupid little fool.

You'll be walking, somewhere very far away
Where the sky is full grey
And you will hear
Our song

You fall asleep at the kitchen table, clutching an empty bottle of wine.

The sun rises upon your sleeping form, bathing you and the kitchen in swathes of gold, pink, and copper.

The red message light blinks sleepily on the ancient answering machine that you refuse to get rid of.

And for a moment you can hold it
And the colours all come back
like the smell of spring on a shifting wind
Our song