Alarms kept being turned off, and ignored (deaf ears), yet I kept waking up on time, much to my surprise. It was when I was actually awake that I became late. 3 hours? That long? Wet streets, diminutive raindrops falling into the puddles. Inside, my sweater drying above the clothes rack as I pulled my shirt over and run downstairs, to run up the adjoining stairs. Up stone steps, and a cold wave of kids voices rush in when opening the door, but instead the wind was behind me, swooning as the door closed. In the far room was a museum, just having been taken apart by a tour of kids, everything partially destroyed. I kept searching for a place to put on my shoes. Just a bench.. Around a corner was a long cream couch, and a red chair with one man sitting in it, who sat completely ignoring, absorbed in his morning newspaper. All the walls were egg white and baby pink. Still and raining outside. Only 3 hours left to work, I told her, at a distance where she could have understood me by heat of my breath, her hair in my eyes and stinging a little bit. We said other things but that’s all I can say.. but, I can still remember ardor, the warmth, even aside from a goodbye kiss and soft hug, just that I know I’ll see you later, still that warmth hanging on me as I reached my job for the rest of the day. Just then though, I realized I’d left without my shoes.

Clear, but without anything personal, except attachment.

A remembrance is lacking a simple disdain, and discarded, yet still resplendent.
There’s little cause to be excited, and even less for enthusiasm, but bitter.

Quietness isn’t left untouched, yet yearning, and willing to be somewhere,
but there’s little hope for that where to be anything, and less to give back,
even with the slightest touch of goodness.

Warnings and milestones became both the same, and within it, we found
more of a purpose.

We were there.
It was clean,

and warm.

Until the night,
in a dreamed new home,
daydreamed collection of pictures,
an orange bedside lamp..

If we were there,
and warm..

A private twilight,

it could be ours.

Precinct

Communication, replies, and half

a prologue.

A few minutes,

or hours this morning –

awake but dreaming, from sunlight to contrasts

Except this morning, you were looking straight at me –

Set your heart on something, but what if it is too heavy?