Little Bourke Street, where you met me, grabbed my hand. What a mental siren sound, ‘cause a lot of that felt odd. The lights were low and blue at The Paris Cat jazz bar, and I thought, is the story you want the story you get? Are you special, or is this all rehearsed in his head? I still remember everything, how we’d drift up Elwood Beach, the red fire sky and late summer breeze. How you’d laugh for me. I practiced speeches in my mind. I was impressed with you every time. I think I’ll call that performing. That’s not how I want to spend my nights. You look awful, like we’re supposed to go back somehow. Goodbye, and I’ll never know why. Should’ve kissed you anyway? Only touched your beard instead. Cross-legged in the blue light, everything was just right until I could feel the teardrops run. The barstool next to mine empty, and you nowhere in sight. Sax pierced across the dim-lit room. Everybody moved on. Guess this is the winter. Our bodies are going blue. I’m down in the City. Point Ormond is far, it’s late. And this one is for you. You said sorry, but when I said things were fine, I lied. What a brutal way to say goodbye. You know damn well how hard I tried. Had to bite my tongue the longest time. Now I’ll start letting go of little things till I sleep again.