What is done is done, as the old man says. The sea swallowed the world and spat it back out again. We build land from the wreckage and call it a clean world. We built again, rebuilt the cities and the towns, farming flourished in the rich soil, and so time moved onward. Now, the cities grow larger, the people older and the days are timed to a nanosecond.
I lost you at the that moment, I think. Your eyes drifted
from rapt attention to a glassy stare in a way that I couldn’t quite pin down. Oh
well worth a go eh? I ramble on and on though, seemingly unable to stop words dribbling
out onto the street around us. People are staring now, and so I take your hand
and stride purposefully away.
We end up outside the shoe shop, looking, somewhat suspiciously,
in at the size eights neatly lined up in the display. I breathe a quiet little
sigh; escaped again.
Songs whilst writing
·
The Murder/Victim Monologues – The Seven Mile
Journey
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