it could happen again and so what, let it.
i am just going to ignore the catcalls and pick up where i left off.
no-one’s watching, it turns out.
just a thousand beady eyes in the blackness of my brain.
i am just a part of an ordinary life.
i am a normal person.
my friends are unremarkable.
my life undocument-worthy.
my acheivements are just activities to fill the void.
it is meaningless.
there are no superpowers or superhuman humans.
there is no disappointment.
there is no expectation.
there is no-one waiting with a medal… not even a report card.
there is no finish line.
there is no starting gun.
there’s only the sun.
there is my skin that hosts this mundane actor.
there are the lines that have no relevance to the play.
the play itself is just that.
there are no repercussions.
there are no accolades.
there is a walk in the middle of a quiet back street on a sunny day.
a glass of champagne on the porch.
shifting from front to back as the heater becomes too much and back to front as the other side cools.
the first pop of sweat as you reach the desired peak in your yoga practise.
a clear note coming from your mouth.
the joy it brings others.
the surprise and joy it brings you.
there is the filling of a blank parchment with ink.
the quietness of fog.
the sweetness of a warm cup of tea.
the absolute surroundedness of being underwater.
the modernity and skill of driving a car.
the rhythm of walking.
the mystery of dirt.
the artistry of painting your face.
the vibrations of laughter.
the clarity of a cold glass of expensive sake.
the unusual warm wet salt of another’s lips.
the adventurousness of a country walk at night.
the luxury of lying in the middle of an oval with your seven year old nephew.
being head butted by his cat charlie.
the initial tipsiness from wine.
the crispness of an early morning.
the velvet feel of a dream.
the excitement of being naked.
the nostalgia of looking out a plane window.
your numb nose from a brisk walk.
the sting of a hot shower.
the quietness of acheivement.
a loud rocking guitar band.
the last bite.
the smell of blossoms on a warm evening.
old paint.
a big fat cheque.
lamplight.
nan’s idea of mischief.
the satisfaction of a good rehearsal.
x