3 steps from Mr. Tom

(Patrick Watson - Mr Tom)

An early morning that casts a gleam shade over the road in front of my house. The sun is new to this street, and it makes the fog hide in the bushes. Sun is rising to show what the wreckage is of the night. It turns out to be flat, completely still. There is no trace of what happened here a few hours ago. The blood has been washed away. The words have been cleaned of the walls. The shattered glass has been replaced. And the bystanders have left.
I look down at my feet, at my brown leather shoes. Yet, they too are clean, only a hint of old dust and minor wear that accompanies their age. My leather jacket smell like the scent of iron, trapped inside an oily cast. The car keys still in my hand. The car nowhere to be found. I must have lost her.
There is no sound, the birds aren't singing their songs. The people that walk inside to their jobs don't seem to pay any attention to me. I stand motionless as I feel how the cold air touches my skin. As I try and remember what it was that I last heard. I retrace my mind and think back of the words. And the fall that followed them. My hands are so cold.
I see a girl, a young blonde girl, she looks at me worrisome. But she has no time to stand still too long. She looks like her, as if they were the same. I walk towards her. As I realise that I am not home any more. My mind has walked away. And as I try to embrace her, I notice I can't.
The young blonde nurse takes me in very supportively as she is asking me about the cause of my radius sticking out of my jacket. I looked at her, recognize her and ask; 'Are you okay'?