Less than twenty weeks remain of me inhabiting London as my home. Professing England, my country. And I vow to spend these coming weeks the best I possibly can. Not with fear, or sadness. Without grief, or unshakeable depression. But with hope. Hope that tomorrow can only bring what yesterday couldn't. That whatever lies ahead has the potential to be greater than anything I leave behind. And who knows, what is left behind, may one day find me again, in a far better place, at a far better time. A more permanent time.
London is still mine, for now. And instead of writing about it, I'm going to just live it. Embrace it. Force it to remember me, just as I will always remember it. For I truly believe this place has inspired me more than anything else. So I will let it write for me. Whatever streams through my pen will land on this page, whether created months ago or merely hours. Be it bad, or good. True or trite. Here lies my outlet. For better or worse.
See you on the other side, my friends.
Some months ago:
Have you ever sat in a moment and felt yourself whispering, remember this? Wishing yourself a life long recollection of a mere five minutes.
Twice, I watched a man make his way toward me. The first, his figure was as dark as the early morning sky by which he seemed to float through on his way to me. His image reminded me of one from a book: A slender, black silhouette, slanted slightly from the weight of a sack, swung haphazardly to one side. The figure sauntered, cooly, but with purpose. And I swear I could feel his smile resonate through miles of darkness.
The second was in the light of day, a sea of green grass and overgrown trees framing him perfectly. He was running to me, his hair flopping dramatically on and off his face in time with his rhythmic canter. Here, his smile was as clear as the blue, cloudless sky, that hovered above. A background in abstract, meant only to intensify the beautiful figure, coming for me.
Remember this, I whispered.
I wrapped his shirt tighter around me, the breeze had cooled off the day, or was it his parting? This time, I watched him walk away. I fixed my gaze, thinking I could capture the way he seemed to bounce, with his feet never leaving the ground, but merely skimming it. I don't know why I tried so hard to remember. If any, this would be the moment I would never forget. My eyes rested on his back as he became smaller and smaller. Further and further away. Until he disappeared completely.
I looked at his empty tea cup next to mine. I took a sip, wiped my cheek, and placed them both closer together, nestled in the dewy grass. I shifted my gaze from the empty glasses to the open field that lay drenched in a setting sun.
The days may be fading, but we still have time. There is always time for tea.
I will always have time for you.
With you, I am constantly reminded of time, and yet it alludes me completely.
All at once.
London is still mine, for now. And instead of writing about it, I'm going to just live it. Embrace it. Force it to remember me, just as I will always remember it. For I truly believe this place has inspired me more than anything else. So I will let it write for me. Whatever streams through my pen will land on this page, whether created months ago or merely hours. Be it bad, or good. True or trite. Here lies my outlet. For better or worse.
See you on the other side, my friends.
Some months ago:
Have you ever sat in a moment and felt yourself whispering, remember this? Wishing yourself a life long recollection of a mere five minutes.
Twice, I watched a man make his way toward me. The first, his figure was as dark as the early morning sky by which he seemed to float through on his way to me. His image reminded me of one from a book: A slender, black silhouette, slanted slightly from the weight of a sack, swung haphazardly to one side. The figure sauntered, cooly, but with purpose. And I swear I could feel his smile resonate through miles of darkness.
The second was in the light of day, a sea of green grass and overgrown trees framing him perfectly. He was running to me, his hair flopping dramatically on and off his face in time with his rhythmic canter. Here, his smile was as clear as the blue, cloudless sky, that hovered above. A background in abstract, meant only to intensify the beautiful figure, coming for me.
Remember this, I whispered.
I wrapped his shirt tighter around me, the breeze had cooled off the day, or was it his parting? This time, I watched him walk away. I fixed my gaze, thinking I could capture the way he seemed to bounce, with his feet never leaving the ground, but merely skimming it. I don't know why I tried so hard to remember. If any, this would be the moment I would never forget. My eyes rested on his back as he became smaller and smaller. Further and further away. Until he disappeared completely.
I looked at his empty tea cup next to mine. I took a sip, wiped my cheek, and placed them both closer together, nestled in the dewy grass. I shifted my gaze from the empty glasses to the open field that lay drenched in a setting sun.
The days may be fading, but we still have time. There is always time for tea.
I will always have time for you.
With you, I am constantly reminded of time, and yet it alludes me completely.
All at once.
No comments:
Post a Comment