flash

That Day in October

A change in the wind, leaves limp from the trees, not ready to let go. I’m not ready to let go. A change. Sun bright, air cold. Leaves gather at the road side, conkers crushed, defeated. This day. I think of you. Not ready for the change.

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With my eyes closed

Night walking. Head hazy. The streets warped like an Escher picture.  Yet my routefinder kicks in. My feet walk a path they’ve walked too many times before. 

Third lamppost on the left, take the snicket Dark and narrow I snag on brambles falling free, skin torn, stinging. Head for the light, the other side. Stumble on loose paving stones down the steps to arrive on your street. 

Quiet. Calm. Unchanged.

I sit on the pavement. Hug my knees tight. Here again. 

In a blink

Thinking back it seemed to last an age. My memory reel playing in slow motion. Recounting frame by frame an event that lasted less than ten seconds. That’s how long it took for the world to change. Just ten seconds. A fall, a dull thud and then silence. Heavy silence. Winded by inaction. I couldn’t get to you. Couldnd’t cry. Sirens wailed, a seagull screamed, an arm on my shoulder, steering away from the scene. Away from you.

Star gazing

We stood on top of the hill. The city lights glistened below. Like stars dropped from the skies.

Just moments from home yet a different world. Up here the moon shined fierce, the cold bit harder. The shadows screamed. 

Up here the earth was strong. 

Hushed whispers ran through the grass. Howling wind slapped our faces. Charcoal trees laughed in darkness. Gnarled branches scratched our skin.

Our soft flesh scraped and tattered, we became something else. 

Eyes burned ebony whirlpools. Limbs stretched, wings emerged. We took flight into the night. Another shadow, another scream.

Rope

Does your neck still burn from the rope I gave you. Do you think of me when you struggle to swallow. Your Adams Apple bobbing against what’s no longer there. Squeezing past the memory. The token I gave you to show I cared. Is it tucked in a draw, at the back with the socks. Beneath lining paper, pulled up at the corner. Do you reach to touch it. A repeated action you never let go. Grasping for nothing. Grasping at skin. Does your neck still burn. I wonder.