March 23, 2010
the sound of the bubbles bursting on the surface of my drink
they sound like the rain on a hanging tarp
slowly pounding out rhythm from chaos
i close my eyes and i slip back into the happy days of my past
the faces that are grinning still at a long forgotten joke
despite the rain they laugh loudly at the smallest things
united by the wonderful hardship of being alive
in a world of damp and gray they are a spark of warmth
motion stops
their voices fade leaving only a darkening blur of smiling faces
and I am alone
in this room
listening to soda
mourning those who are not dead
and seeking those who are not lost

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