day of week

City Scape

23 August 2005

It’s strange to think that the city was once my playground.
Smells of strangers. Coffee. Darkness. Music. Money.
Walking past places reeking with intimacy now grown cold.

The bench. Sitting, truanting, smoking stolen cigarettes.
The tree. Kneeling, gasping, puking hours of ingested alcohol.
The cafe. Standing, stressed, queuing for my coffee before work.
The ring shop. Leaning, lonely, wondering if I’d ever get married.

The city. Her streets. Her buildings. Her facades. Her dark alleys of colourless secrets. For years, she mocked my unhappiness. My doubt. My confusion. Obscuring me from myself. For years, she made me believe that running away was the only way.

But now I stand. I walk hand in hand. My fingers curled inside his. My lips brushing his shoulder. My hot cheeks spirited in the winter’s air. I feel strong. Firm and sure. Beyond the dizzying heights of happiness.

Life is here. The past is gone. Life is now.