The Disappearance of the Sun

Thursday afternoon, and thoughts followed me around with every concealed step. The sun shone down, as I hypnotically hypothesised the structure of better days. Despite the warmth, I held each breath, an act of improbable isolation, I had never felt so alone. perhaps I’ll never know why, but that moment transfixed my attention, negating comprehension, a crossword puzzle washed out in the rain as I slipped further away. I hadn’t noticed the disappearance of the sun, only the coldness wrapping around me like an empty birthday present, bought out of necessity rather than love. I stood motionless, replaying conversational conversations and Russian roulette routines. I had everything, yet indiscriminate amplifications of pain, white-washed the walls of my mind in battleship grey. I have no recollection of how many tears rained down that day, as reddened eyes tell stories never understood.

(May 2005)