The Last Goodbye

I've burned all your shoes.
You can stop running now.

The Lyrics

Someone, somewhere, will know the words to the tunes you hum.

The Two People It Takes

When #34 gets home, she is reminded of the lie she is living. She hasn't told him yet, about that one night stand. She doesn't want to ruin things.

When #947 gets home, she reflects on her days work, whilst reading up on every obscure news story from the past week. She doesn't want to get caught out tomorrow. So what if she lied about her credentials? If you're not cheating, you're not trying hard enough.

When #72 gets home, he pretends like nothing's happened that day. He pretends he's a non-entity, moving as he pleases, unnoticed, across the world.

When #8493 gets home, he sees his wife already asleep in bed. He wonders if he should just give up and walk out. He sits on the sofa and lies down, pretends he's alone. He doesn't want to wake her.

When #207 gets home, she collapses onto the sofa and doesn't move for at least half an hour. She doesn't know how long she can keep things back, but once she starts speaking, everything else will just keep going out.

When #93 gets home, she lies to #745 about her day. Tells him that she enjoys work, had a wonderful lunch, loves him.

When #745 gets home, he pretends to listen. He nods.

When #89 gets home, he takes off his nice guy persona, and hangs it up in the closet so it's not creased for tomorrow. As a doctor, he can't lie to his patients, not even if he wants to, but he tells them it's going to be alright anyway.

When #1 gets home, she sits silently and lets the night roll in around her. She has no one to lie to.

The Blur of Tired Eyes

That sound you hear? That's the sound of someone swallowing their pride/putting down their gun/extending a hand. Of someone realising that sometimes, it really is that simple.

The Days We Stared At Clouds

I dreamed a world.
You couldn't even dream a day.

Your realism frightens me.

The Blank Stares of Politicians

War on terror? War is terror.

The Way We Built Bridges

"You waste too much time on your words." You once told me.

"No," I replied, "you don't waste enough. Words are a tool to you, not a treat. A pragmatic means of communicating, bargaining, exchanging vital snippets of information. Calm down. Stop speaking so fast. We're not fighting a war (not us, not here). You don't prune and select your language. You've forgotten how to roll it around on your tongue, or try it on for size. Revel in rolling Rs, or the sweetness of a string of vowels and consonants, arranged in such a way to create more beauty than you ever thought possible.

Language can be a delicacy to contrast your paltry recital of data. You should try it."

The Way We Burned Bridges

"What is the most destuctive thing known to man?" he asked.

I was silent, then,

"Words."

On His Death

I am a citizen not of London, England, or Europe, but of the free world.