It’ll be OK. I kept thinking to myself, as if the thought alone would make it possible. “It will be OK”. For the briefest of moments, I believed that saying the words aloud would give them some permanence. I was wrong. My comment was met with no reply; the words hung hollow in the air and the silence that followed was more deafening than before. A passing plane caught my attention, casting my gaze to the outside. The grass a verdant green, the sky a clear cornflower blue: a fine Spring day. The warm sun beckoned me outside, yet I remained unmoving, standing on the cool tiles outside the patch of sunlight streaming through the window. A shiver went up my spine; it was five degrees cooler in t
Lilac flowers bloom in Spring a chorus of bouquets that turn into a vulgar show of vanity pulling vomit from my stomach Winter trees that once seemed quaint remembering Paris streets where my feet have never stepped now stark naked to the eye drawing sympathy from having lost its leaves The Summer waves of Cottesloe trudge forwards and back, thrust into soft sand eroding eroding eroding sand dragged into the depths of the sea’s tentacled babies ink rises and all is black drowning drowning drowning not by water but by squid ink beneath still waters like soft silk, blue beneath clear skies and fluffy clouds Autumn’s blood red leaves scream for attention but I feel noth