Marseilles Blues

Love doesn’t live here anymore, only scrawled on dirty brick walls reading “I still love” and “JeTaime Paolo.” I remember when you used to say God left this place a long time ago. I think it’s true. Now the only remnants of his creation exist in the cliffs set behind the city limits. One of the few places I still escape too. The Rustic brown gives me an earthy copper feel that sure beats being blue. Sometimes I climb the jagged jutting peaks until my fingers bleed and I wear holes in the souls of my shoes; a reminder that I’m still alive. From here I can see the cobble stone lined streets and tenement rooftop clothes lines, covered in tattered, colorful fabric. The city lights still shine the way they used to, the kind of light that exposes the stains in our clothing and reminds me of the nights we danced unashamed in the town we could have owned. The breeze feels different now. It’s sharper, colder and less full of excitement. I am sure it will never carry me away like we used to say. I would be a waste of time. You were the one with wings.