and i was also thinking that i no longer had to search for myself in booze and bright lights and wafts of smoke and strange people and reflections and walks like a damn cat on the prowl on heels over broken pavements, sidestepping cracks in the concrete and listening to the wind speak.
but i guess there is no end for it yet.
and it's strange that i have to enter a classroom 2 hours later with the pupils having little inkling about what transpired in the last 20 hours or so that we last met.
i'd thought that among the bright lights, i'd found myself. perhaps it's just an illusion, or perhaps what you'd said to her on a bright weekday afternoon on a lush green court with brick red ground still rings true, the sharp words piercing the summer's breeze like a javelin. it's all in the mind, though i'd hearken not to think so.
the strange bodies all squashed on a platform, the people waving their cigarettes in the air and the smoke leaving whitish trails in the calm, undisturbed air, the individual buried with his face in a pool of vomit, the swirls of beer and froth on the ground, the blue tops above taxis that scream "take me", and now this reminds me of that last day we met when the cab that i narrowly missed taking had some semblence of a meaning to me since it represented when we met, but in the end it all didn't matter, because everything was too late, just simply too late.
hello, old life, life of drudgery, of late nights, of fatigue and of dreaming of planes. hello.
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