Brown leaves drifted down from nearly bare branches, the last sun of the day came over the hill, a few shafts coming through the trees, catching a few fluttering leaves.

He barely noticed.

His stride was long, as though he was going somewhere. But he wasn’t. Eventually, he would go home. Now he was just walking, drawing the cold air down into his lungs and trying not to think.

Because if he thought, he’d get mad. And if he got mad, he might do something. And that would surely change something. And the last thing he wanted was more change.

Not now when sullen anger ran like cold mercury through him. Not now when his world seemed about to be knocked from its already wobbly orbit.

This version is a bit more aggressive than the first version.

WHEN YOU LOOK THROUGH ME

You ask me where I’ve been
I wonder what it matters
I wonder why you should care at all

I wonder what you see
when you look through me
I feel like a ghost in my own home

Oh but weren’t the old days grand
our lives together like love letters in the sand
raise a glass to the past
but don’t look through
to a time when you loved me and I loved you

I go out walking
you stay home talking
those people on the phone know more about me than I do

I hear your laughter
I don’t hear what you say after
but I hear that I’m a joke in my home town

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