OF YOUR DREAMS DYING
THIS IS THE SOUNDThe sound of the end is one we all know.
The din of the crowd is silent for a heartbeat as I look up from my drink and notice her walking back to our table from the restrooms near the stage where they’re setting up the band. The dim light has her backlit. Her round fur hat. Black, braided hair hanging over her shoulders and down her back. Jeans. Boots. Thin legs. Big, heavy sweater. Her silhouette and the sound of her voice are right out of my dreams but it’s neither that has my heart racing.
I met her outside on the line. Out of nowhere she huddled up to me against the November cold and the uncaring Brooklyn faces and never left my side. She’s unsteady on her feet from the drinks we’ve downed already but I know she’s heading for me and that is all
