Like an invisible cage of some flimsy sort, a filtering film that changes all, ever so slightly. But all becomes different nonetheless. I remain on one side of the film, trying to be acquainted with purity, sometimes...
Looking at the people next to me, they look at each other, imitated behaviour. I watch them, they do as their neighbour. I watch them watch me. I smirk. The important remains invisible, symbolically.
Maybe its the strong influence of my right brain. Disorder, Art, Innit.
If I wrote my story word by word it would still be a symbol. If I wrote your story word by word, I still wouldn't know you.
Red blood.
The table across of me was full and now stays empty. The people are gone. I replace them with a water bottle, an orange and a book. The landscape escapes my avid gaze. I try to trap it with my memory but its gone already.
The books. The Art of Loving and the Art of Living. Gender swapping. Psychologically we are everyone else at some point. We try to avoid the thought that we could or can be the worst. Love so hard. Act with more direction. Pay attention.
Plant good seeds.... Metaphorically and physically soon. Well, at least create a new melody! Brighter colours. Vivid colours. Full colours. All before the winter comes.
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