Sparkatale

It was one of those days
That kept people hurried for indoors
Where the warmth keeps you comfortable
And makes you feel welcomed.

And yet, upon the street stands a young man
Who stands alone in the cold and rain.
The wind rushes by in a quick little burst,
But the thing is that he feels nothing...
And hasn't for quite some time.

His eyes blaze trails into eternity
Sees far beyond the horizon into forever,
Yet he sees nothing at all.

In his pocket is a folded piece of paper
That his fingers brush along
In slow, robotic manner...
A piece of paper that never cut his fingers
But slashed his heart in two.

Remember to forget
Forget to remember.
A simple message with too many connotations...
Sadly he'd chosen the right one.

He inhaled hard—
Forgotten to breathe a moment, he did—
And looked behind himself
At the houses with their inviting lights.
The invitations burned his eyes...
He forgot that invitations were good.

In the back of his mind a single pulse
Races to his throat and up again
His mouth forms silent syllables
And attempts to say a name.
But he forgot to use his voice.

From the depths of his pocket,
The note sees gloomy grey light again.
He stares down at it but the ink grows smudged.
He'd forgotten to bring an umbrella.

So he puts it in his pocket once more
Begins to walk the streets alone,
Eyes blindly looking at everything...
The everything has suddenly become nothing.
He stumbles slightly upon a bump in the road—
He forgot to watch where he was going.

And he arrives at an ordinary location
Feels his knees buckle and grow weak
As from the nothing, it materializes.
Within his soul, an icy spark sets ablaze
Makes the young man start to quiver...
After all, he forgot his coat.

His eyes sting at the sight before him
A building that used to mean so damn much
Within its walls, a great thing had occurred...
But that was long ago, and things had changed.
He'd forgotten how bad he could ache.

And finally, he sits in the middle of the path
Feels a tightness in his chest
That causes his breathing to quiver.
As he buries his head into his hands,
He forgets he's not supposed to cry.

But what's wrong to forget one little thing
When he's already forgotten everything else?

Now he's nothing but a lost cause—
A broken spirit taking refuge in warm tears
On a cold and rainy day
Alone in the streets...
And all because he forgets to forget.