Gratitude

I tell everything to these pages, and to you, and they and you both listen. Rare is an explanation, rarer still is any further mention but still they and you remain and listen. The words aren't clear, each typing breath pulls its riddles close and keeps its secrets, but there's always that comfort that these pages keep, that you will read it.

I never really say thank you.

I should.

454000 words

If a picture paints 1000 words, we have 454000 from a few hours and a lot of laughs. And that makes me smile. And they make me smile.

Always.

Bottlecap

The blue looks like a potion, some spell, between my fingers. The glass is cold and the liquid shines. Twisting the tin cap, the bottle is relieved of its hat. They put messages inside these caps, some small uplifting words to make your day brighter or to make you buy more in the hopes that you'll get another.

I sip the sweet bubblegum taste as the cap sits, curled, in my palm. It tastes familiar and yet better all at once, I am reminded. Mouth wash. Braces. 6 months. Off. I smile. I had been looking for this flavour.

My fingertips trace the edges as I move the cap in my hand, pulling it into my eyeline. The blue winks up at me. I smile again.

She's sat in the next chair over, her hair is falling into her face as she talks of success. I grin and she responds with expected confusion. It knew. I read the words aloud, she takes them in, understands and smiles bright.

Your life will be filled with sunshine.

Yes. Yes, it will.

Le Manège Carre Sénart

It moves round slowly and its music echoes in an off tone, some notes are out and others are best left unspoken of. The animals, climb, spin, float mechanically and the people 'oo' and 'ah' and wonder if it's real. There's a smile as the french contraption slows, lowers, halts. It's like stepping in and out of a novel, like drifting in and out of a far off dream.

Envelope

It sits there, the table, mocking me. Smiling silkily at me and begging me to approach it, pick it up and look inside. But I can't. And it knows. It knows and yet it still begs and calls come closer, come closer... in its all too seductive tone. A wicked creature, it is, luring and lulling my hand.

But, there's a higher power, a loyalty to keep. My hand is stayed. It still screams its pleading words and sends it's sugar-sweet lust my way. It wants to be open, to be seen, to be freed. But I wait. I wait until that word comes floating into my periphery and into my mind and then, only then, will I given to its cacophonous coos of come closer, pick me up and give me life...