Wednesday, April 12, 2017

The Story--AZ Rains--A "By Josephine McRose" Series

Once,
on the river front,
in the dark,
where I liked to be,
he came.

I waited for him 
there,
so,
I suppose 
you could say,
it
wasn't 
some great 
moment.
As if it was 
fate.

Ah,
but 
that's just 
what 
it was,
tho.
wasn't it.

His face 
above me.
His eyes looking 
at me,
that.......
breath  he would
make,
that sound.

I breathed 
a sigh of relief,
or would,
if I could.
If I could feel 
air in my
lungs,
instead of water
rushing 
into 
them.

You see,
the stage,
it had a habit
of running late,
of 
being predictable,
only 
in it's ability 
to 
piss me off.

It ran fast,
& it ran slow,
only enough so 
my plans
were only that.
Plans,
& not what 
I could rely 
on. 

And yes,
I DO see the 
irony
here.
The subtle 
transference,
deflecting.
Pot calling the 
kettle 
black,
type of
defining someone else,
by 
my own 
shortcomings,
kind of
thing.

But,
I thought I knew
better,
didn't I.
That I could 
be close,
be close enough.
So
that I could 
stop it.
Stop 
the 
only thing
that 
COULD
happen,
that night.

Yes,
I know.
I've heard it all
before this.
The explanations.
The logical 
reasons.

That faith,
predictions,
premonitions.
They don't work,
they don't exist. 
They. Are. Not.
Real. 

Fine.
Then tell me why,
then.
Tell me why,
I saw him there
that night.
Why 
the winds blow 
in that direction,
why 
I see him,
outside my balcony
windows,
on the dirt 
street 
below. 

Why I know,
he will
always
be 
there.

I could tell you
why. 

But that's 
another story,
isn't it.

But,
like Sara used 
to tell me,
the beginning,
or the
end,
all depends
on,
who's telling
the story...