let’s sit by the shore
and breathe in the sun
listen to the mirth
She sat staring at what used to be hers: dinners in exotic towns with exotic strangers, pools of jewellery that now meant emptiness, and wild, blue-haired poses of her in crowds. She loved crowds.
There was safety in that chaotic mix of voices and bodies.
She’d been woken up from sleep by the party next door. And as people stumbled out drunk and near-alive, she stuffed her ears with cotton wool. To muffle the easy laughter, the soft thuds as people made out in the sand. How extraordinary.
On her way to work by 8, she cried on the bus. It amused her. The indifference. Or whatever it was that made people who minutes ago had fake-smiled greetings in oddly happy voices stare ridiculously at their phones as she sniffed. Hey the world stings everyone. So she made it her comfort. The kind that isn’t forced, isn’t asked for. Not always necessary. But still.
When someone touched her shoulders she wanted to say I’m none of your buisness please. Really it doesn’t matter.
But he reminded her of a large house with a fireplace. White walls. Servants. Coffee and soothing sun. Warm laughter on the roof. A baby.
A familiar scent. Must be all she wanted.
Photo credits: Tauro via Picsart.
The mast rises beyond the city roofs
Black and white in the city lights
Hungry stares around a fire
It will be night soon
The chaff will be thrown
Over the edges
Of the cassava farm
The goats will bleat
The dog will twirl its tail
It goes on
Little musings and its rhythm
Are antics for little swans
Jolts its way through
The sound lulls you to sleep
Tender and soft
Baby, wake up
Take your foam
Up the terrace
Lets catch a view
Mould you on-
Turn your flesh
This way..that way
In your blush
Of literary fantasies
It is worth everything
There are days it’s hard to be-
To toss aside the half-sweaty sheets, drag your tired self to the shower. Water slipping on skin . Alive. You’re to float through another Today and keep those emotions from spilling over your sore edges. Just remember to breathe. Oh how ordinary it all should look.
This doesn’t help you know. Yet what else?
Other days life flows. Soothes. Fulfills all its promises. Laughter and blue skies. Hugs and sunshine in your belly. Your prayers aren’t a knot of unreached words in your chest.
24 looks good on you. One of those off point remarks someone made at your birthday party. So you turn off the lights when you’re alone and try not to overthink. You turn the lights back on, take off everything -slowly, unfeeling- and stare at 24 years of skin and shadows. It doesn’t hurt. You’d thought it would.
Sam chokes on photos 30 minutes later in front of his clients. And swallows. He feels like a great husband. One only gets to realise these things when the sun has set. Something less terrifying.
“You’re having a midlife crisis. Lol.” It is Sam. You’re still here and nowhere. Waiting for 24 to feel good on you.