Short Story

The stores were closed, the weekend shows were over
Autumn came to city streets
We walked through museum rooms of paintings
I knew we’d never want to leave
We went home by the lakeshore roads
I fell asleep along the way
Wondered just what she was to me
Was this worth anything today
I am the angel
Apart from everything she knows
I am the anchor
And no one has to show me
There was so much left to question
Our impressions often wrong
Or is this all imagination —
We belong all alone now, after all
I am the angel
If you might run away right now
I am the anchor
Let me fall…