Left & Leaving

Going Home:

I’m on my way: back to a place where the heat compounds in the stiff air around my temples and wears me down over hours not days til I can’t stand to be in this place any longer.

Leaving:

It didn’t take long for the taps to stiffen shut and for the windows to be painted over. We can’t see out and they can’t see in. It’s been less than 24 hours and my only escape is a door with a deadlock but thankfully I’ve a key.

Another place:

The last time I graced the tree-lined streets of Hampton you could smell the dew in the air and the overhanging clouds sucked all the misery of the world and made sure the rains it produced stung our faces, falling directly overhead.

The heat’s searing now and the freckles on my shoulders are dancing, singing and reproducing in fits of ecstatic romance. The fascination will never die.

The Waiting:

It’s been a week now and I’ve got one more to go. I’ve grown too fond of this air-conditioned paradise and the way my written word romances the page. I’ve got to quit thinking of why I want to stay and start remembering the loves I’ve left at home.

There’s a boy to whom my heart belongs and a piece of his life he’s already entrusted in me, there’s a dog who’s scared to be alone and a mother, father and step-parents who’d have so much to share if it wasn’t for their lackluster greed.

Experiences:

I’ve known for eighteen years that happy families don’t exist and experiences have made my life fuller. I’d like to say I pray all night for a better peace of mind but colours are mistaken in black and white.

I dream sometimes in shades of red but I’m not one to break this down and work out what it means.

Struck a Chord:

A loving mother (of someone else) once told me that children blurt out the strangest things unconsciously.

Susy Pow