“I want,” he says, “to leave behind these half-lit corridors,
the
muted colours and rustling whispers,
quiet embraces after lights are out,
the
ashes of roses, and faded greys.”
“I want to shrug off these
threadbare emotions
We’ve worn far too long to
excite.
This gold band has become thin and loose,” he says
“with the passing of the years.”
“Instead, give me
neon and
music,
the
whirling dizziness of
carousels;
let me
taste the spices of life eaten
raw,
and hear wild, young
laughter in my ears.”
She watches him leave, reflecting how
shadows
pool in his wrinkles.
Then, she lights a
hundred candles
And glories in the
blaze.