But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew.
I'm on the Bateaux Parisiens riverboat in Paris, France. Facing the Seine, I'm able to take in a better view of the city's illuminated waterfront sights.
Come sit by my forlorn self.
Come sit by my forlorn self.
The night seems peaceful, the river asleep. From my side, I can see moonlight glittering off the fractured surface of the water.
On the open deck, small groups of people are exclaiming Ahs and interjections of Ooh-la-las as the Louvre museum, Musee d'Orsay, and the iconic Eiffel Tower float into view, as if through an invisible ocean of air dotted with stars. Here and there, some of them let out a breezy chuckle, stepping back theatrically as the Place de la Concorde drifts by, illuminated against the night sky.Except...
... except on me, the lively chatter has dissipated. Don't you remember me saying I'm feeling pitifully sad?
Confession time: I want to mope. I want to go all ostrich and duck my head in the sand as soon as we dock (although I doubt if there is sand on the banks of the Seine.)
There is only silence. I hear nothing but the plaintive sighs of despair in the sky, the rattle of the night wind and in the space between the gusts, the muted sound of the river rushing past, a gently throbbing loneliness.
I feel unwanted. How did love ever grow old?
Perhaps, I can work on being more attractive. I'd drink eight glasses of water and wear leg warmers and do leg lifts and go all Jane Fonda. I'd add brussels sprouts to my favorite-foods list.
There is only silence. I hear nothing but the plaintive sighs of despair in the sky, the rattle of the night wind and in the space between the gusts, the muted sound of the river rushing past, a gently throbbing loneliness.
I feel unwanted. How did love ever grow old?
Perhaps, I can work on being more attractive. I'd drink eight glasses of water and wear leg warmers and do leg lifts and go all Jane Fonda. I'd add brussels sprouts to my favorite-foods list.
Or I can buy a new Marshall's outfit and practice different poses in front of the mirror: hold in my stomach, put my hand on my hips, turn slightly to the right, cross my legs, and make a fish face.
I can plan and dream. Perhaps I might succeed. Or perhaps... not.
I search for the splendor, but see only the darkness - so vast that it seems to stretch out forever, covering everything with indistinct gloom. I sink into my seat as the evening sags, as lonely evenings do.
It's shaping up to be a long night, and this one isn't over yet.
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