I sit here in the stillness of the morning yet turbulence has hung its cheeky head around the bend. The room is alit in a luminous, aged glow. Like that yellow-ish wash that comes over old photographs of people in large-framed glasses, short shorts and over-the-top head hair. Bob Dylan croons a country tune over the iTunes and the standing fan joins in mournful harmony, its head tilted towards the ceiling as if in childish pride. It pitters and patters on the other side of the window and the sky is a single shade of grey. What a dream, what a dream.
I know this won't last forever. I mean, look how much has already been lost. I miss people, the feelings I used to get being with them. The promise of 'more time' gave me rested assurance then; but even now, that's gone.
I reckon I have one of two options: I could be careless with these moments and usher them into the hands of hopeful recollection, or I could hold on to them for dear life and at the end of the day, release them, knowing that there was nothing more I could've asked of them.
I think I prefer the latter. This year is going to count. I'm gonna make full sure of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment