Sitting in a city not quite your own. It’s as close to home as any other. It’s familiar. You know the angles, the side streets, but you don’t quite fit.
Sitting in yesterday clothes, not nearly as hungover as is probably fair. You’re young but not using it well. You look around. You look to the future, vaguely. You look at your feet.
Newer shoes would be nice. You don’t really care. Something to do would be nicer.
A twinge of guilt as you see a tourist lose his wallet. The city is a perfect match to your disdain. People are shitty. People are shitty everywhere though, right? How do some survive, really? Who stops for street magicians, anyway? Who doesn’t check their pockets after a rushed bump, if not a man that wouldn’t feel the loss? It’s not pleasant but everybody’s struggling for something. It’s not just this city.
Your hands aren’t as sore as you had expected they would be. It’s been a weird mix; this morning. You recognise that fortune has been shining a little; it still feels a wasted effort. It’s a small wonder, but you almost feel happier when you’re miserable. It’s cliché but with hope comes disappointment. You know what you have with apathy. It’s complicated but it helps keep things clear. Like this city when the grey lifts; it doesn’t take a moment to adjust, you can snap back in an instant.
It’s no racing heart-rate, no racy fast embrace. Not
an eyelash flutter, or a hair moved slowly into place.
There’s no slight smile, or shift towards me in your
chair. Your hand’s not brushing past mine, or playing
carefree with your hair.
No second glance across the table, or double meaning
in our talk. I don’t hear music in your movements; see
the sway in how you walk. I don’t appreciate your appeal,
but you’ve not noticed mine.
Yet Friday night we’re sitting here. Convinced in ourselves;
There is nothing quite like being vaguely asleep on the last train. The lack of a sense of time. The gentle rocking motion. You’ve made it almost the whole way home; you’ve made the journey’s last leg - at least, - so no more rushing. No more panic. There’s no more great excitement, no loud new experience, fuelled by artificially dulled senses; crowds so vast it hinders meaningful interaction, or lasting social connection. Bright lights in a big city, slowly fading into countryside. Now just on a train. Slowly rocking. Wrapped in the familiar. Not quite a duvet, but a comfort appetiser; slowing you down without ending the day.
Made me laugh, figured I’d prove that I’m still alive by posting here.
I’ve been writing on my other site a lot, don’t really want to only use this site as a way to promote my other one but ah well.
Be sure to check it out, shouldn’t take too long to give it a read, who knows; you might like it.
I hate it too. “Where’s my content?!”
Well it’s coming, for starters I’ve written a few not-so-great-but-it’s-something Haiku. Which I’ve learned doesn’t have a plural form, isn’t it weird when words are like that?
This website, as it states on the right over there, is a showcase for fiction. I…
Not a huge amount of Content as yet (or any) but there will be a few bits uploaded tonight and some more throughout the following week. I’m still really busy but I’m hoping to squeeze out some good stuff in the upcoming weeks, then even more over the summer break. I’d really appreciate it if people check it out, follow on Tumblr or sub to the RSS.