The Art Of Perception

a tube ride where the tunnels are never black but a quick, brief explosion of colour. At each stop he is standing at the double doors waiting for them to open. He watches only me as the tube starts the slow beginnings of a journey but I am most surprised at the smile that dances on my face. 

And I definitely would have looked into his eyes when he told me that he loved me, left the straps of my shoes alone, ignored my phone when it rang. 

We have arrived with empty hands and full minds, too many questions questioning the questions of our questions, doubt and optimism fighting in the suitcases at our feet. I dare to look at the face that produced those three words but sleep has already found him. 

this.moment.

But sometimes, if you watch closely our fingers will reach out to the empty space beside us, hoping he would come. But on this side of madness we know, living in reality that he will never come. He never has. 

Some of the finest

and as this numbest begins to spread, my toes ice cold now and this darkness creeps across the walls of my world announcing the end of another beautiful memory, the name I keep in the centre of my mind isn’t his. it is the name that belongs to me, shining in that darkness, cos she is the one I am afraid of loosing the most. 

And I wonder, as this new day gets older, if my name crossed his mind as he kissed her lips. And it isn't impossible to imagine that smile that shone in her eyes, as tears fell from mine. I'm sure there were promises he whispered that tickled her ear, the type I know he will break.