Sunday, 7 February 2010

Like Honey

Two people stood in the busy street, the hustling thunder of the traffic an ostinato to their symphony of conversation. "you look well" he said with the awkwardness of memories lying on his tongue, as thick and sweet and decadently shaming as honey, and everything seemed to click back into place, just like two summers and 900 kisses ago.
"thank you" she said, and the love they felt for each other trailed behind them like scarves in the wind, twisting up into the sky above them and trailing around the tenements and apartment buildings, buzzing with life and electricity, intertwined and indivisible.  All around them the traffic danced and the peopled buzzed forward and they just talked. And it was like all there was about them was a field, and a beacon and the grey sky above, telling them to long for the ground, and each other and their lips and kisses and-
His phone rings, she jumps and the spell is broken, the strings of violins snap, the conductor gasps.
The symphony is silent and as they realise what they have been dreaming, and how dangerously close they came to connecting, he answers the phone and the signals of reality and boredom seep back in. A hand goes up, an absent-minded "bye" and he hurries away.
She stands in the street alone and begins to wrap up the tangles of her scarf, winding back the kite. A tear falls, or is it a raindrop. In the flood of a city, who can notice the difference?

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