Improv was her thing, and we got along well cuz we were both in the same business and all. Her gigs weren’t all that hot though, not like mine, but seemed to always have this air of impressionism rife with joyous bouts of holly that stuck with me. Little did I know, this was an improv act too, her whole life a spontaneous fixture, careless and combustible. Anyways, our love blossomed in the rich New York night scene, spent wasting away, mixing with the rough crowds. This isn’t really a romance though so I’m just gonna skip all that lovey dovey nonsense and say we got …show more content…
It didn’t end like that. And I’m not in the world anymore. So it happened, but no not on our anniversary or some other boring cliché. She pulled the plug on a normal Monday night, like any other Monday night. I came home from an interview with one of those late night gigs, and came home to a spectacularly moody scene. Dim lit, in the foreground, radiating with the hopes of a future lost, unable to laugh, cry, and talk, was my baby. Oh she was there too, but she was the sideshow, the carrier of my great possession, something that could be overlooked in the past. Yet now, in the center of it all, I realized now that she had taken away from me what I had longed for all my life, a