i'm three years older

the night hung like shadowed silver. pavement glistened with dusted glitter. mind wandered as i wandered, the sweet aftertaste of a two-week carousel ride.
i moved as if sliding on the ice, you sent a message.
i wanted to save it to read in bed,
i wanted to have it as i settled back to old.
i knew what it would say.
i knew the happiness and the sadness it would hold.
the curled lips,
the tired eyes.

so i left it. ignored it. saved it. and led myself underground to commit the distance. a missing tunnel.

quiet urban forest led me home. itchy fingers begged for the perfect message,
until my street.
and won.
the tiny electronic impulses in the tiny electronic box brought up the tiny electronic letters.

it wasn't what i thought it would say.

you sent a message. you said "i don't have to work after all. we've got the evening before..."

it.
ends.

and i should have turned round and retraced my steps. even just for an hour.
just for an hour.