Nocturne

Last night.

This morning.

I was Florence.

I left, leaving only a note and a banana peel.

I walked with knife in hand, Debussy in the other.

Moonlight.

The cars were bright, loud.

They failed to stop me - I had a mission.

He waited.

The roads were long, scary and pitch black as far as the eye could see.

I cried under the orange lamp post.

I had my signs mixed up.

The screech of a car turned me around, and I ran.

My thin right arm had that knife.

Ready to kill any dangers, except the ones in my head.

The butler was long, but he was waiting for me.

He knew what I wanted, and led me there.

He was there, waiting with a bologna sandwich and earl grey tea.

I traded a knife for a letter.

Under the stars, Jupiter shined for us.

He knows me too well.

I slept, there I was loved.

Despite running 11km from the place of my growth,

I've never felt so at home.

The sun rose.

The time doubled.

We stared into the innocence of white.

We found our plan.

Sneaky, yes.

It took only half the time to return.

The bicycle helped.

That night, that sleep, was in my mind while rushing down Joanisse.

Now the evidence rests at the house of lambs.

I walk to my fate, as if preparing to face my guillotine.

But this time, I will smile.

I may be alone when I smile,

but I will smile.