nice day for a sulk

It’s cold out today. I nuzzle into my shawl stepping out of the door in the morning, pick up a coffee and walk to work. My breath creates little ghosts in the air and I imagine them going on a journey. This one here in front of the green grocers as I smile hello, it picks up fruit to bake a delicious surprise for its other ghost friends, sitting around a cloud in the sky. This one smacks its head into the phone booth before calling a lover it fought with the night before. I can hear its whispers behind me as I stride on. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”. And in its tone I can hear the ache it must feel as if its stomach was turned upside down. And this one, this one here, it browses the antiques in the store. It hovers over pirates chests, remembers the souls that sat in the chairs from when it too was a body of flesh and bones and it giggles as it pulls out old records, wishing it could show his buddy, the one that escaped from my mouth to the pub to drown a little sorrow.
At work, I turn the heater on and rub my hands. My ghosts have disappeared and I feel so lonely and the clock on the wall, it’s standing still. I wish it’d do something more joyful, like skipping, or bouncing, but standing is what it will. I text a friend, I know who’ll understand. “I want to paint the town red, I want to see it bleed”. All so I can fall into bed exhausted and dream and join my ghosts around the cloud in the sky and share the cake and maybe feel less lonely too.