Forever mine

It's late afternoon at the Central Park in the middle of the mad city and she sits there in a drunken stupor. Yes, people look at her in disgust, and then look away.

I stare into oblivion. I have drunk myself to this, in the hope that my restless mind would calm down and my quasi-youthful body would drop dead. But I have achieved neither.

My mind still takes me to places I'd rather not roam and show me images I'd rather blind myself to. I close my eyes. I have not ever seen him more clearly. I see him, in my mind's eye, clear as ever, one moment dying, and another bringing life to me. I open my eyes. They stare.

I wonder if my blank look gives my pain away. But I doubt it, for if they see the agony, why don't they offer respite? I am tearing up again, but on the inside, so no one can see. I am yelling now. I am in pain and the only way to endure it is by holding on to the bench I am now sitting on.

She sits there in silence, there, in the mad centre of this crazy city. Her body still, she stares, giving nothing and taking nothing.

I look at her in disgust and walk away.