Someday when the lights
are so dim that the shadow you cast from the room to the verandah won’t appear
so frightening anymore - and in that little second that it takes you to cross
the room and into the depth of the tree outside - I’d have written my song.
That little song I promise
you many afternoons ago; when the summer heat had little consideration for our
intentions.
The verses would be open and so would the tunes; we'd change them as we like and sing with our hearts clear of guilt.
The ruffled sheets have been
changed a million times and more and yet they bore the fragrance of stories we
shared; something funny that we could never let go of or even fingers that were
entwined, as if war was on our doorstep.
The telephone could be
swiped a million times and it would not run out of my DNA and perhaps if one
tried harder, some conversations too could be secured.
I changed rooms, curtains, lanes,
streets, cities, jobs, men, lovers, clothes, shoes. I even tried to
change the way I think. Funny, none of it was in vain.
All of it seems so far
away now.
