These days I look like a ghost. A spindly, translucent figure that silently floats through cobblestoned alleys, haunting the early morning hours of a still slumbering town. Now and again I stumble across my own reflection, a shadow of a shadow, trapped inside a side mirror, a darkened window pane, an abandoned shop window. I squint and stare into a pale face with sunken cheeks, a gaunt, lost figure with hanging shoulders in an oversized coat, aimlessly meandering through wet, misty streets.
At the top of the hill I pause and soak in the city that stretches beyond the horizon. Down below the lanterns ooze a pale, orange glow, as I perceive the world through a cloudy, suffocating haze. Vision is blurry and sounds and sights are muffled, like they have been for weeks. A stray snowflake melts and dies, as it settles on my shoulder.
Reluctantly the town awakens as I steadily make my way towards wherever my road takes me. A battered, orange lorry slowly crawls up the road, collecting stuff people didn't think worthy of keeping. Around the corner a single mom is being dragged to the bus-stop by her two kids.
I stop and look at what I know I'll never have. I look at what I know I'll never be. I look at what I know I'll never want to become. Yet I desperately hold on to the petty remains of all that is familiar, while my world slowly crumbles to pieces. Feathers come cheap, while birds are nowhere to be seen. All that remains are memories from a time when everything was safe.
I cross the wooden bridge, its planks all soaked and slippery from sleet. The river's a thick, brown soup beneath my feet, carrying faded plastic bags and torn-up love letters to their uncertain grave.
Fastened to the railing, numerous padlocks hold on to the painted iron structure in a desperate embrace. 'P+D', 'E♡K', and 'G+J 4EVR' - scribbled in shaky, clumsy letters on their brassy surface. A naive token of eternal love, fastened to what must seem to be forever to a teenagers' heart.
In the unforgiving daylight their love and their tokens are as flimsy as the bridge itself, ready to be washed away by the first flood of spring. In other news, Easter's a dud.
Fastened to the railing, numerous padlocks hold on to the painted iron structure in a desperate embrace. 'P+D', 'E♡K', and 'G+J 4EVR' - scribbled in shaky, clumsy letters on their brassy surface. A naive token of eternal love, fastened to what must seem to be forever to a teenagers' heart.
In the unforgiving daylight their love and their tokens are as flimsy as the bridge itself, ready to be washed away by the first flood of spring. In other news, Easter's a dud.
