Just Sad

I met an old man once. He lowered his pants and invited me to come touch him. I backed away horrified, trying to make out just what the chubby satyr was trying to show me. He was so tiny it would have been laughable if I had not been nine years old.

He was sad in his absence.

So sad in his absence.

Years later, Anita and I were having tea with another man. He was supposed to talk about the upcoming National Budget. Instead, he sipped his Lapsang Souchong, licked creamy fingers and spoke of life's ethereal unreality.

"Everyday, I put a fresh rose in the vase on my table to remind myself of how fleeting life really is."

He strove for depth as his eyes undressed us. Anita flashed me a look of irritation; this is not what we came for.

He was sad in his absence.

So sad in his absence.

Today I find myself empty, emitting smoke, shadows, my pen dry, my spirit withered. I reach inside me and find nothing; rail at the heavens but the angels are silent.

And know for the first time I'm truly alone.

I am sad in my absence.

So sad in my absence.

Just sad.