I
like the winter sun. It's untimely in a city where sweaters would long be
discarded, if they were woken from perennial hibernation, to begin with.
February is knocking. This month's been a flash, and the year before it felt
like a blink. I'll make it to work in time, but how much do I really have left?
Calculation doesn't always have the answers. People walk purposefully towards
whatever it is that keeps them awake at night. I am grateful for the breeze. Can't
remember the last time I heard 'Life's a breeze'. School, I think. Where did
all the lessons get us? Our inventiveness is incendiary. We keep finding new
ways to hate one another and hurt ourselves. Everything dies except for
hatred. We have inherited it and it is ours to bury. Mornings are a commute, trudging
the country miles betwixt bed and bath, from coffee to clothes to cab. Anything
can be a metaphor for anything if you spend two more minutes than you should
with it. I don’t desire to dwell in one. Give me real or the room to make it. Somewhere
in the crowd jostling into the train station, stealing steps on each other at each
turn, is someone humming their one track playlist, louder than they imagine. Flowers
perfume a square inch of air, offering up the faintest whiff to drivers-by, a
gentle jolt that reminds me of the sun. It has been my friend this day. I will
follow back. Go on, shine me the light of a million medallions. I won’t shy
away from this dalliance. I will live here for the length of a single moment
that holds within it the entirety of my existence. It is possible to feel
infinite and infinitesimal at once. To will oneself into being at will. Will I
remain long enough to watch myself grow cold? Will every single thing in these
shops ever get sold? Dream. Be positive. Kindness is a beautiful thing. Save
the world. Love me tender. The pop colour graffiti on the walls, our last
bastion of expression, has taken a turn for the profound. I look around.
Between a bottleneck and a traffic light. All of us wait, to be found.
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