In the morning I made toast with peanut butter spread and banana slices cause It's all I had to offer, he didn't seem to mind. We sat facing each other just eating and sipping our drinks, his curious eyes glance out the window, it is sunny he says, I agree. Then, "it's time to go," he says.
"No, it is 11AM, look, the clock marks the hour" I joke signaling the clock on the wall.
"Time to go" he states with a sweet tune in his voice, and a smile on his face. But I do not smile, I don't want him to leave yet that's just how things have to be. The sun is up and the sky clear, as is the fact that he is not mine to keep.

"You must get a telephone" he says as he steps outside.
"Why?"
"So I can call you."
My heart flutters, "when will I see you again?"
"Soon" he says giving me one last burning kiss that, like a phantom, would stay with me for the rest of the day.

Monday: Sterile. Tuesday: Futile. Wednesday: felt like sleepwalking.
Thursday: I smile once when going into work I see a poster pinned on the front door; it reads
"High Ridge Present Joy Division Friday Jan.12."

Friday: I switched shifts with a coworker so I could make it to the show.
For once I gave a thought to my appearance but I couldn't get used to my face with makeup so I rubbed off the blush and pressed my lips on a napkin a couple times. I did like how my eyes looked with bolder lashes, so that I kept. A simple short black dress with tights underneath, a black leather jacket matching my leather boots and I was out the door.

The place is more crowded than I expected, and the lighting is really dim, I can hardly see.
But when the music begins, when the bass line mixes with the steady cymbals and then guitar, it is an entirely different world. It feels like innumerable amounts of epinephrine are being injected into my veins pumping into my heart.
There he stood in the only visible light, like the icon of my religion, singing softly with eyes shut.

This is why events unnerve me;
they find it all, a different story.
Notice whom for wheels are turning,
turn again and turn towards this time.
All she ask's: the strength to hold me,
then again the same old story.
Word will travel, oh so quickly,
travel first and lean towards this time.

Oh, I'll break them down, no mercy shown,
heaven knows, it's got to be this time.
Watching her, these things she said,
the times she cried,
too frail to wake this time.
...