Somnambulist Triptych


And immediately disinterested, letting waves of warmth flow and pulsate, like a chemical release, leavening thoughts of egress and worry over what to say next, how to look into the eye. The back is cold, and the mattress grates knee with bobbles, where the sheet has left. Hands tremble and wonder where to come to rest. A thought of the milk situation enters, and is immediately dismissed as irrelevant and insulting at this moment. There has now been silence for too long, and the radiator ticks and clicks as it gurgles heat into the frigid room. One sock bands around the arch of the foot, should it be removed or pulled up? A physical necessity of closeness makes the arms pull the bodies together, a strong, almost violent tensing. Voices in the corridor thankfully fill the quiet, and the rips in the lampshade look like spider’s webs, and leave tracers on the retina when the cheek comes into focus. How many more times? How can you feel more alone, yet want solitude more than ever? Is this all there is? A throat murmurs “Mmm” and it leaves both cold, for it revealed not longing nor contentment, but doubt, and accidentally voiced these thoughts. The springs pop and ping as one leaves the other, and the back moves through the dismal doorway, and a light clicks on.

From Seven Until Eight

My foot is tapping out a relentless tattoo as I attempt to look as carefree and hip as possible, perched on a coffee shop stool in the window. I feel like I am on display under this spotlight, wonder if she will see me and simply move on, an apologetic text with lies to follow. I try to move my body to the sounds of bass guitar in my ears. I am as stiff as the cardboard cup buckling in my hand. A glance upwards reveals strands of luminescent lights in blue and white, intermingled with the dark branches. A smile wrinkles across my face, wide, and a glow enters me, the thoughts of life; of being alive, of coming here and being anywhere, these slow my tapping foot and draw me upright and tall on the stool. I watch the traders close the hatches on their stalls against the wind flowing off the river. Every time I look to the door the woman beside me picks at her cuticles on bitten-down nails. I imagine the sound this may make, and try to look away, but manage to see the operation reflected in the window. Relief repeatedly comes as each person to enter the bright doorway is not her. I decide to get another coffee, and look over my shoulder at my hat and gloves still on the table in the window. I glance back at them again and again, then someone gets served before me. The large coffee is served in a larger cup than my first one. There are lots of happy people here, as I walk back to the window, taking in the heat of the cup. I am one of them, and I’m happy waiting.

Platform Four

One – I have an open, honest, caring and tolerant view, and love to try new things and make the most of what life can offer.

Two – Looking to meet someone who has similar interests and has a good sense of adventure and is always up for trying new things and being a bit wild!

Three – I walk faster than anyone else, I mind the gap and mind of the time.

Four – An announcement was made.


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