A Kindling Soul

She walked into the bar, dressed to kill. The group of men standing near the entrance exchanged glances, and their eyes followed her down the room. Her little black dress was adorned with sequins on the empire waist-line. Her hair was open, but it looked like the wind had been in a brawl with it. A very controlled brawl. She went to the bar; the bartender gave her a hug from over the counter, and handed her a shot of Absinthe, without a word from her luscious red mouth. She gulped it down in a go, and then repeated the process 3-4 more times, before heading off to the dance floor. Various people greeted her, it was obvious that everyone knew her. And if they didn’t, they wanted to. She danced openly, no sign of any reserves. Her candour rubbed off on those around her (or was it the alcohol?), but everyone moved to the same rhythm as her. Her hair grew wilder, like it had a mind of its own. More shots were bought, and gulped down without any ado. The night was young, there was no point...

The empty stairs ring with the silence Of your absence; Of the vacant space next to my nothingness. A cold, morose jingle plays in the distance. My heart, tessellated with memories. Of you. Of you and me. The empty stairs haunt every step, Bereaved of much sanity, Wandering, lifeless, lonesome. Loathe, loathsome existence. Such provisional misdemeanours. No ladder that can be climbed, To lead to you or your arms. The warmth has disappeared. The icy wind scoffs in my ear. The empty stairs mock my loneliness. The dew on the grass fails to tickle. Waiting, waiting for home. Tireless, tired feet walk. Towards you, us. Every breath is a stretch. Every step a toll. Time didn’t stop then. Why has it now? The jar glows, like your eyes did. The empty stairs ring with the silence, Deriding me, killing me softly. The empty stairs are suffused with your laughter. And my hollow heartbeats.