& you didn't see me apologising.
when i walked down that impeccable road i felt so self-conscious. they can tell i've never been here before, noting me down in their memories to glance at later on. they know by the clothes that i'm wearing, by the way i tangle myself in a bag & an arm, that i am an imposter.
so the world just got a little larger.
twodollars
down
the
drain
.
.
.
give the vending machine a little kick with my leatherclad feet. make a face like irksome. twist my mouth into a scowl. stalk away without a bottle of water. i'm almost superstitious enough to take it as a bad omen.
((my red vintage skirt makes me feel a little confident))
instead, i exit the univeristy & throw myself in shade. cross streets without lights while others are following.
turn into
a quiet road,
where i've heard
the trees talking
& creaking before.
curse myself when
i feel my feet
burning up
in their
chambers.
kick my shoes off & secure them in my hands. walk walk walking to nowhere. ((walking to bus stops i knew from my last life))
barefeet trying to find
a place where sunlight
dare not touch the ground.
an unimpressed stare
by a matron
or more.
highschool seems so foreign, so tall & so far from reach. even when it stands next to me. & i can't help but look at this place that was mine for six years, i can't help but feel like i never let go. i walk past this place so often, just to see what has changed in those few weeks. i walk past here all the time, just to find myself a little piece of perspective.
& i'm finding
perspective
in every
day.
isn't it odd that watching the uniformed girls instills a vividness that i find nowhere else? that this place i hate, loathe & despise, is a point of meditation?
watching memories
that never existed
fade away before i
could ever create them.
tiptoe
down the hill, because
the soles of my feet
burn & burn again.
scribble a note
on the back
of a postcard.
pull on my shoes &
wait at the bus stop.
a boy in blue & boredom
stretches into
the shade.
hang my bag on a branch
& pull out a paper fan.
muse about the colour
of bitumen. & a different
colour captures me.
burgandy, numbers, letters,
black & yellow & rush.
the expression on your face was amazing. for the second time in my life, i feel like a ghost. that resolute calm you keep over your features strips itself of meaning. eyes & lips & skin behind glass. & i almost heard the sound you were making. it was silence.
conversing with the air of
i-haven't-seen-you-in-years.
((i saw you three days ago))
it's small things like that,
which make me miss you so.