The stars only shone on looking.
We left as lovers lost in a storm of unkempt emotions. Such was the way with the hurricane and the wind. We blew across the world elemental in our excesses. We didn’t care; we were free. Like bottled cyclones, we span around in translucent circles, the world at our feet and the sky out of reach. We tried though. We tried.When the tears came like a storm of all our losses, from us both, yes, us both, I faltered. You smashed against the barriers like the tempest you were, whilst I blew out. Not a breath had I left by the end, not a one. Home was my last gasp. Infinity were your gusts. We were incompatible really; I know that now. The hurricane and the wind, two that were one, they called us. We just never knew it until we’d both blown away.
Old, leather chairs have certain unmistakable aromas. Perhaps it’s the skin of the animals they heralded from, their pastures, the farms they called home? Perhaps not. I often overthink these things. As for me, I believe they take on the scents of those who cherish them. Like love, aromas linger.
Bored cows moo instead of talking.
The dogs lined up at one side of the street tails wagging, tongues panting, the felines opposite. The cats were an altogether cooler affair. Whilst some eyed their canine adversaries with contempt others licked parts that caused even greater offence. The dogs hated the cats because they were cats. The cats hated the dogs because they were dogs. There was no other way it could be. Fate had decreed war and a war they would have.
Like all wars, it was a pointless affair. Both dogs and cats were almost annihilated and those who survived would never be the same again; war does that to folk. And, like all such grandiose visions, it was neither of the two antagonists that benefited from the chaos of fur and blood, but something altogether smaller.
The little mouse walked onto the battlefield with a stick in one paw, a ball of string in the other, master of a world he barely knew. Both cats and dogs, too broken to resist, bowed to their new overlord in deference, and then returned to the houses they’d sprung from. The mouse smiled at that his whiskers twitching. For a day, at least, he was king.
Every night, love was a dark and brooding presence in our room. But, I grew used to it over time, acclimatised to the warmth in my heart.
When summer slipped to winter and the heat disturbed my peculiarities, what else could I do?
Now, I’m cold and comfortable again.
To be a bubble
Our only expectation
Ride the breeze and pop