Lost Vegas

The road stretched on like a long, dark ribbon, and he kept the wheel steady, the engine humming under his hands. He hadn’t slept since the morning before, but it didn’t matter. The road didn’t care. Neither did the city ahead, its lights flickering in the distance, rising from the black desert like a mirage.

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Las Vegas. Or what it had become.

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He passed through the outer edges first—the cheap motels, the neon signs buzzing with something between hope and exhaustion. He remembered coming here once with her. A different time. A different man, maybe. They had driven in laughing, flush with money they couldn’t afford to lose, hands locked together like they’d never let go.

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Now, he was alone.

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He parked and checked into a hotel with too many floors and too much glass, where everything was designed to make you forget what time it was. Maybe that was the point. He signed his name at the desk, took the key, and rode the elevator up, watching the numbers climb.

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The room was the kind where people came to disappear. Big window, big bed, a minibar full of regret. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. The city glowed outside, bright and indifferent. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes, listening to the silence that stretched out beside him.

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He needed a drink.

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The bar was dim, it was a place where men sat alone and no one asked why. He took a stool, ordered a tall gin, and let the ice clink against the glass as he lifted it. It burned just enough.

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There was music, but it was slow and low, something from a past he couldn’t place. The bartender had seen men like him before. He didn’t ask questions.

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A woman sat a few stools down, dark hair, long legs crossed at the ankle. She laughed at something the man beside her said, and for a moment, he thought it was her.

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But it wasn’t. It never was.

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He turned back to his drink.

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Somewhere in the city, she was gone. Maybe she was walking down the strip with someone new. Maybe she was in another town, another life. But in this city, her ghost still accompanied him, just close enough that he could feel it, just far enough that he could never reach it.

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He finished his drink and ordered another tall one.

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He walked through the streets, hands in his pockets, letting the night swallow him. People moved past him in laughter and light, tourists clinging to each other, gamblers chasing something they’d never find.

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He had once been one of them.

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He passed the places they had gone together. The old casino where she had played roulette, smiling every time the ball spun. The little chapel they had laughed about but never walked into. The café where they had sat in the early hours of morning, her fingers tracing patterns on his wrist.

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It was all still there. But she wasn’t.

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A girl brushed past him on the sidewalk, dark eyes meeting his for a split second, and for the briefest moment, he thought—

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No.

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He turned away, headed back to the room, his head heavy with gin and sad memories.

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The sheets were cold, and the city didn’t sleep. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the air conditioning, the faint sound of sirens somewhere far below.

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He closed his eyes and saw her.

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The way she had looked at him, once. The way she had laughed, tilting her head back just slightly. The way she had walked away.

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He turned over, but the bed was empty.

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He reached for the bottle and poured another drink.

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The morning came, but he didn’t meet it. He sat in the chair by the window, the glass still in his hand, the city rolling on without him.

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He thought about leaving. Getting in the car and driving until the road ran out. But he knew he wouldn’t. Not yet.

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He looked out at the lights fading in the dawn and whispered her name once, just to see if it still meant anything.

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The city didn’t answer.

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And neither did she.

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- Mark Gammill

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Lost Vegas

 

Verse 1

Driving all night

I can see the city lights, 

reminding me of you,

wanting someone to hold on to,

like you and I were, missing her.

 

Verse 2

Checking into a room,

many stories above, lost without love

darkness surrounds, what can I do,

nothing's the same without you.

 

Chorus

In Lost Vegas

here I am looking for you,

your ghost still haunts me

I wish it’d break through

I just want to see you again

no matter what, no matter when.

 

Verse 3

Bar lights low, I wish I could go

where she is, out in the street,

the world is a stranger,

not the way we were, I still care for her.

 

Verse 4 

I see her eyes, no its someone else,

reminding of how I always felt,

such a foolish heart, so far from home,

back to the room, but not alone,

with memory of the truest love

I cannot hold.

 

Verse 5

Gin, my fateful friend,

drinking all night again till the light of day,

I know its not the way, but letting go of you,

is so hard to do, with so much left to say. 

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- Mark Gammill