twenty minutes too long

For twenty minutes too long, i sat there and listened to the woeful songs of Tom Jones. Alone and lonely, his lush and solemn voice only made my foolish choice resonate stronger.

For twenty minutes too long, i sipped cream and coffee and cracked peanuts, popping waxy pills slowly, hoping to forget in gluttonous travail—the beguile i was suffering.

For twenty minutes too long, i thought on and on about the hapless futility of my quixotic ways, and with a fantasizing gaze i stared out the window, wanting to overcome this haze of sentimentality.

For twenty minutes too long, i brushed up against reality, taxing my fate as i dared wait to prove, for once, that it behooved me to faithfully follow my delusions of desire.

And for twenty minutes too long, I did not tire of waiting, anticipating that at any moment she might appear and steer fortune toward the fulfillment of longed for love and affection.

But for twenty minutes too long, I was viscerally wrong—And so, I packed up my pining and rejection and dragged my soul languidly away, in the opposite direction of the fey predilection I harbor.

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l.m