the city
We clicked our feet to sidewalk beats. The consistent commotion of city streets.
We were tighter than the thinnest alleyway in China town; the ones where noodle bar chefs can barely make squeeze for a cigarette.
We moved in silence, but the skyscrapers spoke – packed with rainbow people moving to their own flow. A rhythm of has beens and who’ll be nexts, of west side yuppies and red fishnets.
Weaving through the stories that everyone tell; we chopped our own path – cast our own spell.
But winter gets hard in a forest of stone. In a sea of ten million – you still feel alone.
We wrapped ourselves up in culture and art, in all of the things that set cities apart. Skateboard wheels were wind chimes. Taxi horn birds chirped their aggressive rush. We thrived on the speed.
And I heard you say, ‘Faster.’
Wavy pools of spilt street lamps surrounded you as I watched you speed ahead. And you were so beautiful. You were so beautiful that I would never ask you to wait for me.
Because the city doesn’t stop.
I stood in the centre and listened to the shouts. People opening car doors, ‘This is where I get out.’
You found me here alone – with red eyes. No possessions. No expectations. Just trust. You never told me but what you thought was, ‘Trust. Even the best cities in the world can’t offer you that, certainly not 24 / 7.’
I understood when you left. You’re so spectacular. You used to say how bright the lights seemed – to you.
I close my eyes. On a busy street. In just another city.
Shining.