#four

I crossed three bridges and I still couldn’t get out of the rain. Nothing spoke softer than what had fallen from my head into the chocolate water. It was tempting – like a pool of opaque salvation.

Words came – fast then slow – and I knew that you had fallen with me. Taken me somewhere I do not wish to be.

The art of sorcery is a fine one to teach. Conning children out of pennies and finding folded notes where you wouldn’t expect them. I have done this.

The fish in the river were especially shy that day – coming to the surface only once in a while and winking at me, or you; I couldn’t tell. Their eyes like delicate crystal balls filled with wispy fog. They seemed synchronised, a small parade just for us. Whether they were saying goodbye or calling hello I couldn’t be sure. They were silent all the time.

The great marble arches that sheltered us were tall. It looked like cheap marble – with red veins and lots of imperfections. There were cracks that were home to insects and sometimes they fell on us – caught in our hair, they wriggled to get free. That is until I lost mine. Do you remember we left it outside for the birds to make their nests? And when we saw it in the trees it had all changed colour. Each nest different. They looked like jewels among the branches.

The arches have gone now. They fell to pave the floor. It is the rocky carpet on which we sleep when the moon is full and its radiance fills the sky. It illuminates the night and you turn away from me so you can’t see me crying.

It is tears that rot the wood inside trees; that empties them out and makes them hollow. 

It seems our roles are cast. I know you are cold like me. Your skin is dry and sometimes crumbles to become sand.

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