I tried calling her today, but
the phone was left for seven
rings too long. She
doesn't like, she is afraid of
dialing numbers and jewellery and
the sound of bugs flying too
close to her ear.
She probably would have laughed
at the thought of dreaming the
day away. Because she can't stop.
She can't stop to meet me at
the rooftops. To meet me and
hold my hand. To meet me and
watch the sky move sideways.
Today I called him, to say, to
say that I wanted to drown,
not in sorrows or swimming pools, but in
the ocean, because it's so peaceful
down there. Only I didn't. I
didn't breathe. Or speak. I
didn't call at all. And I
wished he wouldn't
tell me to be more careful when
I scrape my knees on rocks, or fall
towards the sea. I start
to dream, at the beach.
Her purple and greens clash and
she doesn't care. Her fingernails
are painted of different colours
and she doesn't care. She kisses
me, she laughs, she's care free.
I wanted to show her the patterns
that formed when she fell, and
how the grains of sand were parallel
to the grain of the wood, but she
listened to the silence. She listened
and then she came crashing down on me
like the ocean. Like the waves on
For a moment, the sky was still, and
the sea was silent, and
our eyes might have met, and
we might have smiled.
Our thoughts may have caught and may
have tangled, but then again
our smiles may