A sequence of letters marked
on a surface
The movement became so automatic that without command her legs would bend, her arms would stretch, her fingers would grasp, to once again hold, whip and gently peg them up.
Her mind was somehow spread between those walls along side with the hanging wire. Her gestures were kind, making sure not to leave any marks, because her feelings, just like those clothes were there in hope to later be recollected without sign of any previous stain.
We had four doors
We had four rooms
We had four windows
And those doors kept us close
Those rooms barely sane
Those windows brought the light in until this thousand and ninety fourth day.
We planted you amongst sunflower seeds to later see you grow beside them. They now spread across the soil, those small crops of you
So whichever side the sun is facing you will be facing too.
The dishes pilled up in the sink the same way the lines of her pen dribbled letters across the page, formulating sentences that never seamed to have left its surface.
They layed there, in a deafening silence, just like those plates, waiting for a reason to be drained.
He slipped carefully in between the pillows placed around his head, hoping to give his agitated mind a comfortable place to spend the night. His body was twirling, only to get even more tangled in between the numerous layers of blankets for which he occasionally emerged from. It didn’t matter how much he had on him, he felt no weight was going to fit up the negative space he had left.
She repeatedly asked what came after winter but never fully trusted the answer. How can it be when the cold is still here, creeping through the cracks of her window, under the ledge of her door.
As if only I could count the many times I sat down, pored myself a tea, in that old English mug I have, and sipped silently every single drop only to do it again, the second that mug gets empty.
It was thought trough
Planned to the millimeter
Sketched in all sorts of shapes and colours
Its structure was outlined, its proportions projected
But the time came and with it, you went
So you became like many other
A first intent
The crackling of the wind hitting his window woke him up but no light was there to be found.
So he sat up in bed, staring at the vagueness of his surroundings, attempting, with freshly open eyes to distinguish the blurred line where the roofs and the sky met.
She exhaled so deeply, all the air from her lungs echoed across the room, through the gap of window, to be carried by the wind until it reached him. It travelled across the river, from south to north but it never seemed to find its way back.
You dimmed the lights and you ran the water full so that your body could perhaps feel the frequent mumbling of the waves rinsing your insides. But the tap leaked, from time to time, bringing you back, to that steamy bathroom on this late Monday night.
He supposedly sat where they told him to sit and he sipped away every thought he had. Don’t be fulled by his young skin as it gets old while inhaling the drunken souls of those old men who spend they Sunday mornings here. He puts his glass down, on that metal table and the sound of his lighter soon became flame. He was there, muted, just like me, staring at a stripped wall in front of him.
Our eyes never crossed, I guess its good for a change to have nothing to stare at.
Well… I had. Him.