It Hurts

I am ignored. It hurts. I walk along the promenade. Relish the salt from the sea breeze, wondering about all the people that walk up and down, sniffing at pizzas, hating chips cooked in burned oil. A couple cling to each other kiss and laugh, and hurry on towards their secret tryst. Families sit on benches green discussing home affairs. No one looks up or glances at me, for I am all alone. Ah, here comes an old friend. "How do you do?" A few inconsequential words, off he rushes too. Out comes a cigarette, it may just soothe my frayed bad nerves. Then quickly proceed to sit on a chair in an open-air bar, order a beer and dream that before me sits a girl. No one asks to sit near, despite the empty chair. I am ignored. It hurts.