Dischord

I don’t understand why you’re behaving-

The comforting, gently progressing notes of friendship, fully given way to the cadent a, b, a, b of argument. Rising rip after rip of bow against string, example after example – the reasons why I’m right and we’re wrong.

Phonecalls between remaining friends, explanations for those that heard and haven’t heard yet

the same words but a choir to sing them.

You’re still arguing with her as you tear through your flat, through your meal, as you go for a walk with no intention of clearing your head. You’re ready to say it all again, your feet the drumbeat, making you ready, pounding beat after pounding beat, making you ready!

You can’t forget what he said or what was done. You’re surrounded by reminder after reminder. Everywhere you go. Every conversation, everywhere except your prayers. And his prayers.

Light turned to dark. At night their name doesn’t leave you, but you make time for someone.
At the end of the day you opened the book and she opens the book.
The certainty that ‘you will…’, is replaced by the question ‘will you…’

…Read the pages, turn them over, listen in to the ancient song
Who is right and who is wrong and who’s conducting who.

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