wake up someone else

He wore a three day beard the way I once wore a silly gold belt. It was a meaningless prop, indicating sadness like my belt's pretense at reserve- a remnant so ice crusted now it couldn't even pose as a challenge. It went with a scarf. It was an outfit that fit and amused me endless. I was going to get back from black. It's a memory of the beginning of a divide. The overhead lamp in the room as I pretended to bustle around rather than have our faces meet. The clash of those expressions would have taken care of everything in an instance, we knew without looking, he never looked. We waited for a tragedy to let us avoid those words and why wait like that. I deserved it. Give her a bottle of black, call it a gift, and hit the door solo. Thanks again, mac.