Monsieur Solitaire
Lonesome Man Walking
Every door was closed as monsieur Solitaire passed by the houses in the outskirts of Paris. Every window was dark and every chimney out of the smokey breath that every one of them had spewed across the evening sky an hour ago. A silence echoed through his head and a chilly chunk of air drained his eyes. The cobblestones that addressed his feet and served his every step tried to make him fall down in the street with their mistcovered gleam like poison worn by a snake. Monsieur Solitaire’s shoes sounded across the houses around him, they called out that a lonesome man was walking here, someone was left behind, someone just left their home. His feet and his shoes bore him to the mountain that leaned towards the town, and above further and further. Over hills they carried monsieur Solitaire and across the rocks and stones shattered here before God for him. A calm peace was discovered here many years ago by him and he never lost it or gave it away, for monsieur Solitaire was alone.
The moon shone upon monsieur Solitaire where he sat on the soft rocks. Every moon for every spin of the sun vault would shine down on him just like the sun would wake him up every morning. Every rock around him had been kissed by his feet and every star was recogniced. Night after night monsieur Solitaire would visit his moon, would let it shine upon him and spend his hours just to make it shine again, upon a soul so alone. The moon was all he needed. One of the cats would stroke itself on his creased trousers, they would sit in his lap like he didn’t excist, they would look upon the sky with the moon glittering in their fur and the stars twinkling in their eyes. “One of these nights,” he would whisper to the cat, “one of these nights you’ll understand too.” The cat would stay for a minute or two, and then dissappear just as quickly as it had arrived and monsieur Solitaire would be alone again.
The moon shone upon monsieur Solitaire where he sat on the soft rocks. Every moon for every spin of the sun vault would shine down on him just like the sun would wake him up every morning. Every rock around him had been kissed by his feet and every star was recogniced. Night after night monsieur Solitaire would visit his moon, would let it shine upon him and spend his hours just to make it shine again, upon a soul so alone. The moon was all he needed. One of the cats would stroke itself on his creased trousers, they would sit in his lap like he didn’t excist, they would look upon the sky with the moon glittering in their fur and the stars twinkling in their eyes. “One of these nights,” he would whisper to the cat, “one of these nights you’ll understand too.” The cat would stay for a minute or two, and then dissappear just as quickly as it had arrived and monsieur Solitaire would be alone again.