Empty sky, empty sky...I woke up this morning to an empty sky.
Not even a whole song, but a handful of lines:
I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed where you used to be
And you're just sitting there, traversing the endless gridlock of smog and ashes, -and you look around you-, and somehow things tie in with each other. You swear you can almost see the knot of tears tightening in his throat. And yet, he keeps on singing, shaky voice and all. Suddenly it's you who, for no apparent reason, seems to be on the verge of tears. But what is he on about?, you ask yourself. You know it's not the endless tons of scrape metal and flaming stones. There's got to be something more. Something that causes the deep pain that hovers about your stomach, something that cracks your voice in a way nothing else can. And then you realize it's not something more, but something less. There is a void that can never be filled. An empty impression/In the bed where you used to sleep. You picture your hand outlining, in the still warm sheets, a crater that is an open wound, never quite a scar. You try to keep on driving, to hold on to the wheel, to normality and routine, but his voice won't leave you alone. It hits you like a hammer. Not the words themselves so much as their inflection. It is absence, the ghost you will never embrace. It hits you so hard because you think what everyone must think at some point, yet it is probably best to avoid at all cost: what is going to happen when they are all gone, when the sheets have grown cold? Will I wake up one morning to an empty sky?
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This being my first post, I would like to thank Ernesto Priego for the invitation. Nice neighbourhood you guys got here. Glad to be part of it. (Hi All).
Well, I guess I'll be seing you around.
Bilbo aka Luis Felipe Alvarez.
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