The light fell like melba, and buildings glowed relentlessly around and in between. The textural layering of the tenements backing off above is the greatest view in the world. I look up and I have everything I need. I just do. Here’s the problem, kiddo – no-one ever wrote a blues song about this city, or if they did, it was in spite of the walls, not because of them. This is the entrapment they call ‘home’. I can’t be what I need to here.
“I kept falling in and out of oceans of rare eccentricity. In one dream I was surrounded by a soft skied awning of blue, while in another, there was this sort of relationship that emerged with some strange face that I had never acquainted myself with before”, she tells me, plucking sentiments from the ether as easily as cherries from head height. She plays slowly with a wisp of hair, tosses it to one side. This can’t be real; it is dream fabric. I adjust underneath such a thin layer, and retreat under my own, and tell her to keep warm. This is my cue to leave. Tonight, I know I will fly towards the dateline. This is how living matters.
- Quirky, forthcoming.
PM x
