the street under the dome of the night sky, a pair of white shoes, hitting on the road with a rhythm, slow, steady yet somehow a different beat.  the density of the darkness is meek, pleasantly transparent and light.  

 

the legs, detaching from the two crowds on both sides, a horizontal line of brusie is burning, the scar of silence.  the arrival of the streamline on platform nr.8 still managed to bring a shock.  like a dolphine.  the splash of rain dirt on the beak,  traces of a traveller.

 

the night is a disguise, she makes every city look just like the one you are familiar with.  the dancing neons, the corners of streets, the queitly sliding taxis, the tall shadows of buildings.  the familiarity brings a sense of safty.  strolling.  staring at the passing of your own reflection on the ground.  it goes long and short and long.  it follows the street lamps.

 

the purple skirt under the glowing east entry sign.  how easy is it to be spotted and recognised.   in a constantly dashing around crowd, maybe standing still is the best way.  but the socks choose to move.  you can't see stars here.  afar, a group of overly grown skyscrapers are grouping together to work out a plot.

 

how much distance is it to differentiate intimacy and friendliness.  what should we do to take trust.  how far is it between caring and jealousy.  to what degree should we turn our eyes away.  where shall we stand in.  how deep should we get involved.  where should we just be invisable. 

 

how close is the future.  how far can you go in believing.  how well do you know yourself.  how much are you scared of facing her.  how much do you care.  how much do you tolerate her, spoil her, blind her, instigate her, comfort her, encourage her, warn her, urge her, stop her.  

 

which face do you prepare to meet the past, which to the present.  who doesnt like happy endings yet do humans have a tendency to be appealled to tragedies.   how much are we linked, connected.  how much can we influence other people's lives, people that we've never met.  how much can our lives be affected.  how strong are we and is the stronger the better.

 

questions.  the arrows turn their back.  it is, surprisingly enough, not that bad to be asked questions.  passive as it is, it takes more effort than i imagined.  is hiding conscious or habitual.  does communication make better understanding.   opening up does make a better change.  for now.  that's all i know.  that's probably all i need to know.

 

daylight is dazzling through the fingers.  black suits the occasion.  words sink down with the tea leaves.  the smoke softens the hard light.  a breakfast on the go. 

 

white butterflies dominate the countryside.  it is the end of the coleflower episode, they are bound in bundles, lying there like aged women, retrospecting their bright yellow youth.  peasants are already busy with the next planting.  each in the middle of too large a field, remote from each other. 

 

i walk in the sun, through the crowd, in the rain, under the moonlight.  the music is on.  black box recorder causes physical pain from the loneliness of england.  time is long gone yet the feeling is haunting.  how short and long is a life.  i'm walking, among my companions, across the city, above the roof, past the memory, beyond the horizon.

 

into my dream.

 

good night.