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10​,​000 Recitals

from Wolfram H by Wolfram H

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Her smell was good, a scent of food. A luscious breakfast. Her eyes were crossed, and she was soft. Beneath her eyelids lay the weight of the whole world. When I heard you mentioned in this most descriptive sentence, it brought me back to nights on shepherd's lane. Doubting our survival, we had 10,000 recitals of things we would have done differently. I heard you gave birth to a child, a baby boy named Billy Wilde. You blame your son for what you've done. You blame his father for the switchblade and the gun. And you are right, it's not your fight. But you never were the one to live your life. Just like when we shared my hunger for the ardour of our younger. The poems of our pretense were loud and clear. When you mumbled with despise all of your 10,000 recitals, I knew you'd gone away indefinitely. You wrote me a confession, how you'd never had obsessions. I had to hold my breath to barely breathe. How could I forgive you when I don't even regret you, or all of those compulsions being false.

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from Wolfram H, released August 1, 2011

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