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Sighs After Midnight

It was 1984 and the clock struck thirteen when I left her alone on the station of a one-horse town with only the wind blowing hard for company and the rain pouring down. She used to tell me I had no heart, how the love we shared was predestined to fall apart; and as a distant jazz trumpet blew, lost in the gale her tear stained face blurred in my view; a result of the weather or the tears I cried too? I cannot say now, but then in the soot and gloom, a curtain which closed this play of love and doom, I breathed many sighs after midnight was long gone and that distant blue trumpet played on and played on, pricking both my conscience and my soul...

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things