Now. With this day
What shall I do?
My body aches,
With sleep, my veins a-cursing.
I tiptoe to the door:
What shall I see?
Under my toes
The cold in thunder strokes awoke.
So many textures,
The torpor folds amid the sun-grey coils.
It is not language, but how we experience it that will change.
Today I had a date with my seventeen year old self.
There is something cathartic about time travel; that warm feeling you get when you meet someone who was dear to you once, a gem of a memory from a time of innocent bliss. You remember it with fondness over the years. It is a part of who you used to be, a stepping stone to who you’ve become.
I unearth my treasure-chest full of stardust, frayed at the edges, yet still very much alive with brightness and wonder. I retrieve each marvelling sun one by one. Here, a dusty tram ticket nudges a perforated corner. There, a forlorn posy of violets scents a day long past.
That was me. A girl on a mission. Searching for a nugget of sunshine.
She had a helping hand or two along the way. All was lighter when shutters ripped open.
A part of her stays with me always. The rest is dewdrops, lost in the vivid colour of all the days lived since.