Morning walk

I did not sleep last night. I laid next to her, listening to her slow intakes of breath. I was in a strange man's house, someone who's name I forget and whom I have not met yet. But she had the keys to his place and he was away and there would be no chance like this to catch up with each other and there were so many things to tell. She was feeling like such a mess. She looked at him and hurt. And the were anxieties piling up inside me, things I had not shared so I followed her to the appartment that overlooked the cemetery.

Which was probably a mistake, because look at me now, sleep-deprived and without a chance to sleep before midnight for today. I couldn't sleep for there were thoughts of him in me tonight and they mingled with the way some other guy looked at me, and what words I've shared with each one of them - I repeated words I had been told in the past and when I think of the outcome of that case I feel sorry for the poor lad that heard them, should he go down the same course. You usually fall for people who dare to admit to you they're not that great. Maybe honesty is so rare these days we can't help but free-fall in its wake.

I got up and left with the first rays of sunlight, I put on my hat and shoes then my leather jacket. I went quietly down the stairs, opened the door and let myself out. My eyes felt weary and I shivered in the crispy April air. I plugged in my ear-phones, my feet taking me around an unfamiliar area, the world waking around me. I went through the archives, somehow Winehouse seemed like the most appropriate choice.

Mornings in Athens can be such hopeful and such hopeless hours.