Somewhere In London

The clock hits midnight, James leaves his den sneaks out of his tiny window he didn’t use the pen. Not this time, not another letter sent full of hopes, passion and flames. He picks up his peak cap, will people be calling him names?

Sweaty hand clutching a piece of paper with letters and numbers on it. Anxious yet refuses the feeling, says to himself: ‘It’s too late to quit.’

Morning hours, streets of London, the year of 1940.

He watches the army men, wishing he could be one. for a while his troubled mind switches to his father’s gun.

Dusty, old and out of shape just like his own father’s world. Changed after the sight of blood, unmerciful and blurred.

Feeling sharp pain in his chest, he walks by those uniforms. Disappointment in their clan, as the damage from the storms.

After hours of wandering, in the rain from the summer sky, he fulfils his task, given by heart, willing to die.

Knocking on door, hoping for heaven. But woman opens, Where’s his Evan?

‘Business partners,’ he lies. Woman said to be his wife offers him a cup of tea. He would rather take a knife.

‘Won’t be home for couple hours,’ She scans him from head to toe. thinking he’s not wealthy, maybe James should go.

Find the closest pub, drown his sorrow in a drink or two, hasn’t got money for more. Silence. What to say? Not a clue.

As he’s about to leave he hears rattling near the door. Pale man, standing still, staring suddenly nothing’s sore.

Cigarette nearly falls out of his mouth, his wife sees. They’re eager. ‘Go Dorothy!’ Finally. The wife leaves.

‘I can’t believe it.’ They catch one another, no more falling, or hiding from each other.

Their hands can’t let go hugging with so much care yet kissing with pure desire. Their hearts full and chests bare.

Star-crossed lovers reunited. Two souls finally at their best. Love, passion and safety. Souls open like a war chest.

But safety and war aren’t close. How can you be at peace with love when the country’s at war? They just didn’t know the void of sacrificing safety for a ‘better good’.

Bombing strikes, everything’s a mess. Is his love dead? He didn’t confess.

They won’t be buried together, wishing they could get married and live a different life. Will they even be buried?