Thursday, August 03, 2006

Last night in longhand.
Tonight could be magnificent. uplifting. I could walk and walk in this place that I need. ther's life everywhere in it. every nook and corner. high ledges above floors and floors and street of life is more, squeezed into pockets where families play mahjong or peel oranges, lovers banish stinky shoes to share ledges with pidgeons, lugging supplies up narrow staircases, revel in the energy of the place. I could have walked and walked. could have sat and istened, let it penetrate my chilly bones. Slipping in so comfortably into the familiar anonimity where nobody looks but anyone might smile. traders don't approach me because I look comfortable - not lke like their tourist targets. I want to be the person that wanders to a newly reopened old haunt, taps her feet, nods her head. drowsy in the half dark eiderdown. There would be interesting conversations with half remembered anecdotes after. Arrive back late to this scare opportunity bed, slinking into four star sheets and shiney surfaces. But its breaking into my heart. I can't live it because I mourn it. I miss it even though I 'm looking at it, listening to it. A few steps and a thousand miles away at the bottom of something I don;t know the name of. New skin too fragile over old wounds to risk bumping the edges of me. the knife of an old flames favourite on a radio, ill tuned to the times. something drags claws down my chest with every changing traffic light or neon flicker.there's no key. i'm done here.


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