Eleanor Rigby

All the lonely people……….where do they all come from………..all the lonely people…….where do they all belong?

The Beatles song plays on repeat on my iPhone. Headphones in my ear. They are starting to hurt. I vaguely make a mental note to replace those spongy things. The wind blows outside. I welcome it. Sweat runs down my back, tickling with it’s slow moving trickle. Where do I belong? At home with my mom and stepdad fighting. Constantly. I replay beer bottles smashing against the wall. Muffled crashes. My mom’s eye, blue and black. Turning in to green and yellow as the lifeless days wear on. I’m not interesting enough to be a reality show, never good enough to warm someone’s sympathetic soul. I am just…forgotten. A lonely person. Hollow insides eat at my heart. I have a hunger nothing could fill.

I walk inside the building when it gets close to my appointment time with Blue. I watch the people in the waiting room. They are lugging emotional baggage behind them, dragging feet and minds. Slouching in my seat, smelling the fear and self loathing permeating through the fibers. It’s almost as if I can soak it up. Take it with me. Add more to my already overstuffed luggage. I wonder numbly how many people sat in these seats that never came back. That jumped off that bridge. That stole the gun. That robbed the store. That got shot by the police…and left behind a broken daughter and a wife who gave up. I shove the thought outside so quickly I drop my iPhone. The Beatles start playing out in the open. I feel exposed, naked. Like I just let someone see into my soul. I grab it up and shove my headphones back into the jack, pulling my hair to cover my entire face. I feel red heat blazing up my cheeks. The world took so much from me I never wanted to give it anything in return. But there it was, the words lingering out in the open…words I can never take back.

Eleanor Rigby died in the church And was buried along with her name…Nobody came…

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