A Pocket Watch

It has been a long time since I looked at this blog.

Jessie, one of the team leaders, 

pointed out that perhaps I should talk
now that the blackout is over.

Talk about what has happened lately.

I will not tell you everything.

Too much has happened for one of these posts.

But I will tell you this:

I have been dreaming again.

The man I... 

The man I felt for.

I saw him die.

Walking with a man,

my handler, 

or maybe I am his.

There is more to it though.

I am smiling,

carrying a picnic basket in one hand.

We are in a park.

A group of children sing London Bridge.

I put my head against his shoulder,

I cannot stop smiling.

He seems distant though.

He seems scared.

He tells me he is moving away.

He tells me he is going to discuss things with Mother.

Discuss us and discuss what he found.

I ask him what it is.

He checks his watch

and he stares at me.

He says that we are late for a meeting.

We never have meetings together.

Not with others anyway.

We run for the trees.

Crack.

He falls.

London bridge is falling down.

Falling down.

Falling down.

London Bridge is falling down.

My.

Fair.

Lady.