Spoiler! :
Going Back to the Corner
The road seems dark as I walk along it; no stars are there to guide me. I can’t even see the moon anymore. My bag weighs ever more down on my shoulder and it makes me stoop further, along with my heavy heart. The sleeping bag that I hold tight in one arm is old, and I should have probably spent time in looking for another one. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. I haven’t been thinking straight since you left.
I remember the first time I met you; it was on the corner outside Joe’s café. It was cold that day too, do you remember? You were shaking and shivering and I offered you my gloves. All you told me was that if you didn’t get some coffee inside you soon you thought you were going to freeze. I don’t think you expected me to buy you coffee, but you always were good at getting your own way.
Your hair, a rich shade of mahogany. I can still picture the exact way it flowed down in waves to adorn your porcelain-like, glowing skin. If I close my eyes I still see yours, framed with long, dark lashes and a bright emerald green that seemed to light up the world. They certainly lit up mine. A straight nose, full lips, you were perfection from the moment I laid eyes on you.
That’s where I’m going now. That corner, where I first saw you. I have my sleeping bag all ready for tonight even though I know it won’t offer much protection against the bitter wind that whips around me this evening, but at least it’s better than nothing.
I still carry the photo of you around with me; that one I took last Christmas. You looked so happy. It’s painful to think of everything that’s happened since that time. I can’t believe I did this to us. We were so strong, built on a foundation of love… why did we let something so small come between us?
I’ve driven past those people before; walked past the men, women and children camped out on the side of the road. I ignore their messages, but now I have one of my own. I’ve scrawled it out on cardboard just as they do because I understand it now, I’m no better than them. None of us are. I’ll just have to hope that it makes the difference.
They’ll try to hand me money, they’ll think I’m the same as the others who beg, just for something to eat. But I’m not. In a way it’s worse for me. They won’t understand. I have the money, the house, the car and the fancy furniture. But I don’t need any of that. I’d give it all up just to have you back. If that’s what it would take to fix it… I’d do anything. I hope you can see that. I’m not broke; I’m a broken hearted man, one who can’t simply be fixed with money.
It may not make sense, I'm not sure even I quite understand why I'm doing this anymore. But I can’t see what else I can do. I can’t just move on and forget about you. It’s like you’re imprinted in my head, locked forever in my heart. No matter how hard I try I know that I can’t convince myself this is the end. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.
Maybe they’ll be one day where you’ll awaken and realise you feel the same. I’ve clung to that thought every day since you walked out. I keep thinking you’ll call me up, or they’ll be a knock on the door and it’d be you saying you miss me and you’re coming home. I’ve thought that for six months. I can’t seem to let it go. If you call home, I won’t be there now and maybe you’ll stop for a second. That’s all it takes, just one second where you wonder where I could be. Maybe you’ll remember Joe’s café, and the first time we met. You’d find me there if you chose to walk along and take a trip down memory lane. They say I’m wasting my time, because you’re never coming home but if you come back to the place I’ll be here waiting for you and it’ll be like you were never gone.
I won’t move. I’m not moving. Not for anything. No policeman’s going to make a difference. I know he’ll walk up to me, feeling all important and he’ll put his hands on his hips, look down at me and say, “Now, now, Son. You know you can’t stay here. Don’t you? This is a public street. You’re blocking the path. Just move along now, there’s a good man.”
But I’ll shake my head at him. “I’m not moving just yet,” I’ll say. “There’s someone I'm waiting for. I’m waiting until she comes to meet me. I don’t care how long it takes; a day, a month, a year… I’ll still be here. I don’t care if it rains, or if it snows. I don’t care about freak storms. I’m waiting here. Waiting until she arrives.”
The world will travel across the town. They’ll talk about me, the man who sleeps on the corner of a street just waiting for that girl. They won’t know who you are; you won’t even know what’s going on. No holes in his shoes, they’ll say, just a big hole in his world.
Perhaps the local news will pick it up. Maybe they’ll do a story on me, the man who camps through sun and rain to wait for the one he loves. You’ll turn on the TV one day and see my face, tired and cold but there nonetheless. Then you might realise, for the first time in years, just how much I meant it when I said I would do anything to keep you.
You’ll come running to the corner and you’ll know I was there just for you. I know it will all be the same as it was. That’s the thought that keeps me going through this dark walk.
So for now I go back to that corner, the corner where I first laid eyes upon you. I’ll camp in that thin, little sleeping bag. I could have afforded a better one but it’s too late for that now. Through any weather I’ll stay here, ignoring anyone who tells me to move. I’m not gonna move.
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