Monday 19 February 2018

Round 8.


The guy at the bar is a little younger than I am, just a little, but he’s hurting too.

“What happened to all that eh? It’s like none of it meant anything.”

He was talking about circus.

We looked into our glasses - red wine in mine, beer in his - and sighed.

Two days earlier, on the motorway, I had listened to The Beatles; “do you remember them?”

“All you need is love?”

It was simpler back then, so there is little I could offer in the way of sympathy.

“Don’t you think that about everything? It’s like the whole of the sixties meant nothing.”

“Maybe the whole of our lives.”

It was time to sigh again.

“What happened to the idealism?”

“The dreams?”

“The humanity?”

We sigh together one last time.

“Why did we touch the Moon?”

He doesn’t answer, this time; he is hurting too.

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