Friday, February 16
Yet another one. Steel bars. Grey blue glass. Long walk to a grey blue sky.
Have I been here before?
Does that child scream in vain or because he recognised a face in the crowd or a ghost with a snowman grin?
"I'm here to swallow you up- are you ready for the magic?"
Floating through a numb haze of cataclysmic contours- people I believe- waiting, watching, worrying, wincing.
Peeping, leaping, weeping. No surfeit of tears here, or hugs.
Watching from my corner, the world playing itself out in a few square feet of fettered space- that could wrench you away from today- or coerce you back to where you belong?
Vacant eyes searching for no one, soothed by another's skirmish, amused at how simple it all can be. Right here. Everyday.
As lives change, bonds break with uniform montony under the steel beams shining on steadfastly. I would wait here forever and not go out. One iced caramel macchiatto and the memory of others.
Smoke in the cool air, black jacket hug, tired hair, shy eyes only half looking for more than a christmas tree.It's all purple today, like my cosy scarf and blueberry smoothie and my favourite hills at 4am and the picture of your veins by candlelight.
That's why we're here. For the colour. As it changes. As it dies. As it lived.
And when we yearn for it to be born again- it's of a different hue- and yet-
we recognise it and rejoice- though we can't call it our own-
like the snowman that melted- and the child who cried when it was gone.