Wrong Number

By Kristof Gregor

In the evening I walk alone, at three in the morning I pace about the area. Today I will do as I did yesterday, I’m much too lonely not to.

Two clockwise arounds and then a half the counter way; that's what the Guru said, then right to the fountain. There I was to find that which I longed for. 

I always made sure none could see, wore black and checked twice before I left my lodgings. It is, after all, my secret; I’d hate to think of sharing you. 

I’m taking my time, though I’d love to run and scream… I walk slowly and watch the scene cautiously like mama bear; only I have no young, just a mind full of fancy and fantasies I can’t lose sight of. 

I count my steps regularly, it is an exercise very handy inside dreams, I count to distract myself from the dark without. As I path the last minute I can’t help thinking of myself as the worst being in existence. Conceited, I know. Do understand it is not an easy cadence I exercise, rather, every passing second my feet weigh more than the last. Why? Easy! I deny reality; decline its implications and denounce its sovereignty. 

I listen to my daily mix on spotify. A song so serendipitous in name resonates from my ears to all within. I wanted to leave. An instrumental piece I could swear I not only heard before, but knew the lyrics of. Of course it was just a feeling of knowing them, I couldn’t recall a single word. Feeling of knowledge is a treacherous trap, it could cost one a burned hand and yet it is so real, more than any knowledge of feeling.

I approach the fountain and toss in a euro-coin. Remnant of a different life; what little nothings I could have bought  back home. Where are you? I did everything right. 

Fifteen thousand steps and fifteen more, I thought about you at least five thousand times. I paid the price so where are you? I need a shoulder so desperately… What more could I have done? I mean… sorry, wrong number. To you I only meant to say I’m having fun.

By Kristof Gregor