The cold air claws at my skin with every step I take. It looks upon me yet does not know me. I scream at it to see me, arms flailing and lungs screeching. I beg for its attention; nonetheless, my pleas are ever unheard. After all, insignificance is worse than contempt.

The dark streets of New Orleans offer me no warmth. My wanting eyes hunger for a pair to meet them. They scour the sin-filled streets, desiring even the recognition of the men that lurk in the shadows. Waiting to pounce. Taking advantage. Sleazy, wanting fools. I am unfailingly disappointed.

The neon signs and colored beads are not my brothers anymore. Now it is just me. This rug of black velvet above my breaking heart is my sole companion. I gaze upon its depths, freckled with fading stars, dimmed into near oblivion by the pollution of the steamboats that trudge steadily on the Mississippi.

The Mississippi. Where it all began. Where it all ended.

I remember my stand, overlooking the bustling river. The rumbling waters, growling, like an underfed stomach. At the time, I did not know they hungered for me. The customers. The sweaty palms, the anticipation in their eyes, eager to hear what awaited them. The knowledge that had situated itself in my throat, refusing to let me swallow, breathe, be happy. The looming insight that I was just another Louisiana fraud.

Stand. River. Waters. Palms. Eyes. Knowledge. Fraud. The words that described me. Who I was. What I was bringing to this empty, cruel world. This was the world that I hated. This was the world that hated me. Only one word was missing from this list that summed up my entire existence. Fool.

In the somber moonlight, my feet guide me to the bar on Bourbon Street. The location of my first rendezvous with him. With every stride, my fragile heart shatters once again. It bleeds, spilling upon my forgotten intestines. I cannot eat. Not in a world without him.

I remember his strong frame sitting alone in the corner, inhaling the jazz and smoke-filled air. The scotch in his hand. The wink of his eye that had tethered me to his heart and dragged me right into his arms. The realization that despite my profession, I had not believed in magic until that crucial night.

My feet collapse beneath me. The laughing joker sign above the institution drives a stake through my heart. I hear his laugh in my silly mind, reassuring me of his love and making me feel weak and undeserving of him all at once. The melodious varying of his voice. I hug the cold ground beneath me, littered with my tears. Every sob that shakes my body blasts the scattered remnants of the last parade farther away, beads of every hue and pigmentation.
I feel his arms around me. The strong arms that had held me with such simple adoration. The same arms that had given me up to the mercy of Hades. Stand. River. Waters. Knowledge. Fraud. Fool. I was a fool in love. I was a fool to think he loved me. My mind rushes to the worst memory. The memory locked in the darkest corner of my brain. I yell at my curious mind as I cough in the dust that adorns the streets. I scream at it not to stir Charybdis. This is a memory better kept in the disheveled boxes of my mind. Oh, I warn it of Pandora’s fate. Nevertheless, my mind is a horse caged up inside of the shelter of a stable. It needs to stretch its legs. It aches for the freedom of exploring the world beyond and the world inside. My pleas always go unheard.

I remember the bright moon that one night as we held hands on the banks of the Mississippi. I see his expression of disgust as I recount my profession to him for the first time. I recognize his twitching smile and convulsing hands as I try to reach for him. But he is too far away now. I beg him to come back to me. My wet face tastes of salt. Though he is but two feet away, his heart is a galaxy apart from me. It runs from me. It cringes at my name. His beliefs antagonize me, when all I do is love him.

I foretell his actions a second before they occur. I see the irritation etched in his face. I see his crystal blue eyes clouded with animosity. His trembling, full lips quiver with rage. And his arms. The arms that loved me. They rise slowly, as if fighting through an invisible layer of molasses. They find my shaking shoulders. My heart leaps, hoping for a forgiving hug. You see, the Fates do this funny thing where the moment I see a glimmer of light in an overcast sky, they go out of their way to send in the darkest of storms. Hence, my leaping heart knows it would crash inevitably - it just lacked knowledge of the magnificent degree to which it would occur. This man - this man that was once the epicenter of my world does the unthinkable. He slaps me as far away as possible -bam!- right into the ravenous alliance of Hades and the Mississippi.

My mind struggles to come back to the present. I must live in the past now, after all, for my future is a vast void. A black hole. Hopeless. Desolate. Nonetheless, I cannot bear to see his face replaying in my head any longer. I cannot move now. God knows how I survived that awful night. Nonetheless, I cannot fight any longer. Why fight without a cause? Why live without love? I might as well allow the life to trickle out of my feeble encasement right here, staring at this wretched pub. After all, I am already dead. I am dead without him. A mere corpse without his love. As they say down here, “laissez les bons temps rouler.” As the headlights approach, appearing to roll through my tear-filled eyes, I know that the good times are now to come. This world holds nothing for me. I pray the next will. Stand. River. Waters. Knowledge. Fraud. Fool.