Observe the Blood, the Rose Tattoo
There's an alley behind the apartment.
I waited there one evening.
And the night grew colder. But I kept waiting.
She was supposed to come home. And talk to me.
But she didn't think of that. Or got busy. Or didn't care.
So I waited. And it started to snow.
I wasn't dressed for snow. Or to hang around all night.
I was dressed for the short walk. For her being home when she said she would.
And as the minutes turned to hours, I knew I should leave. I knew it was making things worse to hang around. I was getting angrier and had already long past the point where I wanted to talk to her anymore.
My friends told me to forget it. They wouldn't want me hanging around in the alley. By her apartment.
Watching the snow accumulate. Get higher. Not hearing the sound of her car.
And the hours kept accumulating like the snow.
Until I thought I heard something. It wasn't her. It was the trees moving.
As if whispering.
Asking me what I was doing in the dark. In the alley.
"Time to go," the trees said.
And I turned. And I left. And I didn't look back even when I heard a car driving up.
I should have left right away. I shouldn't have waited.
What would it matter to her? I thought. And the answer came from the trees: "Nothing."
And I knew the trees were right. It was time to go.
TVD Live: New Orleans Jazz Fest, 4/28–5/1
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