jbeauvert: (Default)
She’s got rings on all the fingers of her right hand. On her left
there’s just her wedding band, she worries it around in circles.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong. So I talk to him and pour him a glass of
wine. He isn’t listening.

She says, “Come, come to Jesus.”

He says, “I already did.”

She says, “I don’t know what we’re doing, but I know it’s got to change.”

He says, “You’re right, but I don’t know how.”

She’s got her mind made up. I’m writing down ideas in my journal. Is
this the beginning of the end?

He sighs and he lights a cigarette. He’s lost a lot of weight. His
skin hangs on his face.

She drinks from her glass. She fidgets with the wedding band. She’s
looking at me like I’m someone else. She doesn’t know there’s a
difference between me and what she wants to run from. I don’t know
there’s a difference either.

He doesn’t look the same to me. He taps his pen on his journal. We’re
talking about this trip we’re on, but I’m talking on music, and he’s
just talking on fame. He doesn’t hear me say his name.

He says, “Come, come to my house.”

She says, “You should know by now I can’t.”

He says, “Yeah, I know that.”

She says, “Then why ask me to stay?”

I don’t know she’s leaving. I don’t know she’s moving on. I’m just
coming to Jesus.

I don’t know he’s staying. I’m just bringing him Jesus. Like he told
me I am running.

She says, “Come, come to Jesus, and I’ll sing your soul to sleep.
Come, come to Jesus, and just sing this hymn with me.”

Come, come to Jesus/Come, come to my house/This talk is almost over
Come, come to Jesus/Come, come to my house/This life is almost done
Come, come to Jesus/Come, come to my house/We’re finding the end
Come, come to Jesus/Come, come to my house/We’re done. We’re come. We’re gone.
Come, come.

January 2016

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