It’s raining.
You know the day.
It’s raining and it’s dark and it’s maybe 5pm but it feels
much later.
But it’s felt that way all day.
The sun hasn’t moved through the sky, the same grim darkness has been bathing your mind for hours.
So,
the time,
it seems,
doesn’t matter.
You hear that horse neighing like your heart has been grabbed and pulled around a bit.
A blur of white in the colourless, featureless atmosphere.
His best friend of how many years?
Taken away on the back of a truck.
Isn’t that just the way …
it’s only the third time you’ve seen your father cry.
It hurts,
like you’re bleeding.
Not…
Not in that way that maybe you’re with someone just because you want to catch up to your best friend who lost hers two years ago.
No.
That’s a lie.
You love him.
Mostly.