George Square at 6 a.m. The moonlight crawls along the square, chasing away the summer heat. A siren wails in the distance; a wave of noise crashing through the otherwise silent night.
“Be good. Stay.” I do as I’m told, and I wait. I watch him as he walks further and further away, but my attention is averted as it starts to rain. I briefly gaze up at the night sky, and when I look back he is gone. The raindrops blur my vision. It’s not tears; I’ve been practicing and I am being good. He always comes back. Always.
Time waits for no-one. I am hungry. I am thirsty. I am cold. I am so very tired. The night slowly turns to day. I still stay.
The sunlight skips along the square, tripping over the bitter chill of the night. Early morning commuters drift across. They look right through me as they pass; I am not here. I am here. I want to go home. A passerby floods the current. She walks towards me; a kaleidoscope of colours amongst a sea of black and white.
“Are you lost? Has someone left you here?” She bends down and pats my trembling head. “You’re such a good boy.”
The tears come now, and they flow. I’m not good. I’ve tried to be. I’ve been practicing really hard. I stayed. He’s never coming back. Never.
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