Deja Entendu.

My mind spins trying to keep track of everything.

            The telephone is pressed so tightly to my face I feel like it’s beginning to melt and become one with the fabric of my skin. Through the glass I see you exhale deeply into the familiar piece of plastic and I do the same. The stress all of this has caused you shows on your face like oily tire tracks on a slick city street. So many stories can be learned just by examining your countenance: each wrinkle telling of a laugh too long, of an argument that seemed so colossal at the time but proved a waste of breath in the end. Each imperfection in said façade made me love you that much more. The first time you said to me that this was your fault was the first night I stopped believing. A part of my soul departed from me that night, and never resumed its position nor regained its function.

            How was one to foresee such a terrible act? I wasn’t even guilty by association. I was framed for a crime no man should ever commit. I presented my case to the judge, and he somehow still could not bear to see my side of things. The limbo of freedom and captivity lingered for months, until my will to fight had dissipated. It was funny, how this multitude of persons thought it was me that killed the man; that I was the one to pull the trigger, ending life as quickly as it began. I choked on the cottony feeling in my throat, hot tears burning my eyes as the verdict was read.

            I looked at the woman I had spent almost all of my time on this earth with and mouthed, “I love you”. She cried out in inconceivable anguish, her heart breaking in such a way only known to mothers. She muttered prayers and hopes and wishes all under her breath, her hands pointed like a spire towards heaven. I closed my eyes for the last time, and in that instant, everything that hath risen hath tumbled again.



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