we used to play outside when we were young & full of life & full of love
It's the middle of they day and you ought to be working, but here you are instead: lying on a sandbar underneath a sky of rainbow and crystal, watching the sky change and thinking about nothing.
No, not nothing. But we don't need to talk about that.
"Gonna be winter soon," you say to the ceiling, as though perhaps the building has somehow forgotten how seasons work.Your'e wearing canvas sailor's pants, and you right arm is wrapped in a swath of blue cloth. The tan lines will be terrible. "Storms'll sweep through. Boats'll stay in harbor. Everyone'll get drunk."
You reach up and tap on a dangling crystal. It clinks merrily. "How'd'ya do it, eh? Standin' year after year, storm after storm? Never once sayin' ya know what? Maybe this'll be the year I give it up. See how they feel without ya."
You shake your head and drop your hand. "Nah, you ain't never said that. Y'know we'd miss ya, even if y'are just a pretty thing with no real purpose, sitting in the tide." The little house sparkles, but says nothing in reply. It's just a building, after all: an empty shell where people sometimes stop, but no one ever stays.
No, not nothing. But we don't need to talk about that.
"Gonna be winter soon," you say to the ceiling, as though perhaps the building has somehow forgotten how seasons work.Your'e wearing canvas sailor's pants, and you right arm is wrapped in a swath of blue cloth. The tan lines will be terrible. "Storms'll sweep through. Boats'll stay in harbor. Everyone'll get drunk."
You reach up and tap on a dangling crystal. It clinks merrily. "How'd'ya do it, eh? Standin' year after year, storm after storm? Never once sayin' ya know what? Maybe this'll be the year I give it up. See how they feel without ya."
You shake your head and drop your hand. "Nah, you ain't never said that. Y'know we'd miss ya, even if y'are just a pretty thing with no real purpose, sitting in the tide." The little house sparkles, but says nothing in reply. It's just a building, after all: an empty shell where people sometimes stop, but no one ever stays.
zephyr
