Don’t close your eyes!
Look up at the moon,
the stars, the night sky,
the auroras blushing – shy.

Open your eyes,
or miss the night sigh,
the sound of sleep,
of satisfaction deep.

Now close your eyes,
Come aboard the night train,
Hold me by your side,
Take me beyond time and ride,

Watch colours come to life
by the magic of your smile,
We’ll fly over orange streams,
in the night train of dreams.

———

Originally written 17-Jan-08

Once upon a time, way back in high school, her smile was the brightest smile I knew. To me, she was the colour white personified. She was evrything pure – the horn of a unicorn, the bugle of truth, the cape of decency… I always counted her among my closest friends. I never thought anything would change. She’d always be that perfect someone I always looked upon with decency and almost brotherly love.

Yet, look at us now. Even an online hug goes unappreciated and unallowed. We haven’t kept in touch at all. When I see her online now, and say hi, an air of formality and social etiquette descends on the conversation window. Why must I have to think twice about saying things to you? I never had to do that before…

Things change. Fuck it. Fuck the world.

My screams echo off the silent walls, yet all I hear are whispers, sobs and sniffles. Agony takes a seat in the second row, compassion occupies the front row. Ecstacy, now stained, takes a piteous seat at the back.. Pain, no stranger, smiles as he takes my hand. Welcome, all, to the story of my life. The show has begun.

Black easel. Nineteen-inch canvas. Ten paintbrushes and twenty-six primary colours. I’ll mix them up and play with them. I promise to create magic…

Now the morning comes, dark and gloomy. The lovely grey clouds of promise have turned ominous black. It’s the calm before a storm. In the stillness, I can feel the tension about to explode this silence. Fingers have stopped moving, but thoughts are running faster than ever. Brows begin to furrow. I jab hard at the backspace key. A line gets wiped out. Yet again, fingers come to rest. Yet again, thoughts run faster and more furiously. Brows furrow tighter, meeting in the middle – wrinkled skin. A final thought…

The storm announces its arrival with an explosion of thunder! With an angry shout of frustration, I pick up my sentence and smash it into the ground, words and letters going flying about – the result of a perfect thought and an imperfect expression. I stare into a semi-completed piece of art, in progress for days on end, and slowly get up and walk away for now.