Love, Death, Industrial - One More Night

 

Of all the nights we had together, this is the one that refuses to stay buried.

Rain tapped against the window. Her lipstick was still on the rim of my coffee cup. We had been arguing for so long that neither of us could remember how it started.

She told me to leave.

I asked if that was really what she wanted.

She wouldn’t look at me.

She looked away, but I already knew the answer. We were frightened, not of the pain, but of how much we still had left to lose.

I walked out.

Then her message reached my phone.

Come back.

Two words.

No apology. No explanation.

I turned around.

She was waiting beneath the streetlights when I returned. Her arms were folded, and she looked furious with herself for sending the message. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to shout. Instead, I walked towards her.

We crossed the line we had drawn only an hour earlier.

One more touch. One more kiss. One more promise that this would be the last time we tore each other apart.

Maybe that’s how forever really begins: not with certainty, but with two frightened people asking for one more night.

The following morning, we promised to meet after the shift sirens.

She said she would be there.

Now, every song I write is another message sent into the dark.

Come back.

Just once.

One more time stopped being a request years ago.

Now it is a prayer from a man who no longer prays.

And it is a punishment that never ends.

Sincery yours, 

Jon Grinmaster