Wednesday 11 May 2011

Watching from rooftops.

It was a rusty morning: grass dew-laced, air thick. We sat cross-legged in a transfixed state of a blurry sunrise, of gaps in our memories, overtaken by nostalgia of days unspent, of places inexistent. Cigarettes stubbed out on the grass, grey ash scattered under my bruised-knees. The surrounding homes pulsated to the heartbeat of the neighbourhood, street-lamps switched off on cue and dogs stretched out on lawns, spines curving dangerously low.


I really should've been in bed by then, but alcohol never induced me to sleep. Instead, I chain-smoked my way into daylight, chatting idly with the others. We all had our own quirks, and mine was reacting to the unspoken thoughts in my head; a laugh, a shudder, a sigh, all mysterious to those around me. Households were awaking and weariness was creeping into our bones, a sign for bed, but the risk of losing all fatigue as I hit the mattress, of tossing and turning to the soundtrack of my depressed thoughts scared me back into lucidity.
Lighting another cigarette, I soldiered on.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

- letting you know I'm hereee! LOL. This one's my favorite!

You write in a very detailed and creative way... I think I just classified yours as creative 'cause it's realistic. And detailed. Did I just mention that already?

I love most of your works! They can really put me in the eyes of the persona. And letting me feel the way she felt too!

Hoping to read some updated blogs soon! Love and light!