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Alanis Morissette - "Hand In My Pocket"

He got up that morning.  Like so many others.  Travel to the kitchen.  Flip of the switch and the morning manna of coffee began to brew.

Like so many times, so many days, he turned on the computer.  Simple clicks to check media ever so social.  Ever so..  That is when he saw.  A tiny message.  So small it could almost be considered secret.  The rolled piece of paper so carefully stuck:  missing masonry in a wall so tall, so tall..  The careful unfurl showed that there was to be a meeting.  Friends, young and old would be in attendance.  Would he come?  Could he?  Should...  he?

He laughed  It would be good to see.  Time had passed.  Allowing each to see the others as little more that each themselves.  The struggles.  The travelers.  Same road.  Same paths.  Destinations ever returning.  They all were continually moving, if not forward, they were moving at least. Each lost in a madness that was singularly their own, but one shared by so many. 

So it goes

He knew the assemblage would have all those who had done their part... in building who he was.  Changes were overlooked.  They knew it was merely cosmetic.  They knew the deeper.

They knew the souls.

Each

To each.

In the crowded muzzled mass he knew... he wouldn't set sight of her.    As the crowd passed he would never see her form, filtered through the passing shadows.  Don't worry.  She would be on vacay, Or busy with her brother.  She couldn't stay.  Couldn't stand.  Her life, had been a shadow.  She believed that she was little more.  As such... perchance she gave a little more... than she should.  She had arrived at her hollow victory.  Unwilling to face the valley of promises so hollow... she wouldn't arrive.  But she would ask.  Those who had gone.  Perhaps she wanted to know if she was mentioned, and how, by whom. 

So it goes.

We were a family...

and they knew the souls.

May she...

Enjoy her hollow victory.

While he...

He has one hand in his pocket...

and the other ones flicking a cigarette.