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Sunday Saturday night blues

It could happen anywhere at anytime. reading by the candlelight that this prison gives me. No motion in the sensor array but I detect a breathing life beside me.

It’s her but her hair has turned red. Red. Of all the colors in the rainbow, it is red. Blonds have more fun, or do they? I no longer can remember if it was long ago, in a train station far far away. She had a cat. I remember that.

The other one less so demanding but more so. She lives in a multi-plasticized world were the only reality she escapes from is found at the end of the telephone cord. Speaking. Real. Fears unsaid are brought forward when no one is around. Listening. Like goblins that control your thinking. She needs to be set free. I can hear her from here. If I didn’t dream about her, it wouldn’t be so bad. But her ghost is alive.

Sunday Saturday night and I find myself thinking, wishing for the cable car to come and take me away from here. The need to escape from the lies, the placating compromising delights of your twisted smile. I see the eyes and they lie about the weather. How much more so will they lie to me?

“Don’t be gauche” you say. “Eat your goulash and store your memories. You are going to need them later on when your spirit fails you.”

I shudder and look away. I see the glass bottle to the right of me and its amber gold, burning a hole through my conscience. Burning a hole away from threaded reality. Its Sunday Saturday night and all bets are off the table. Only me and them, the remnant remain. Standing.

“I love you.” is all that I can say. A hoarse whisper that escapes my throat.

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