He lived life at a safe distance, careful to keep his demons at arm’s length, far from emotional contact.
Buried memories spoke in voices he refused to hear, a broken heart smoldered in ashes, and though the pain was real, he remained apathetic, haunted.
Red lights marked where accidental worlds collided, leaving shattered illusions on a city sidewalk and the scent of her perfume in the air.
______________________
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer