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On some days you feel aligned with Peace. On some days Peace is so distant, you’ve forgotten what it feels like.
You know what it looks like. A loving text. A photo of an old friend. A cherished recipe. A smile. Graffiti. A Japanese garden in the back streets of Tokyo. A spider web. A suitcase in your bedroom. An open bar when you thought everything was closed. Herbs on the kitchen bench.
Sounds. A voice saying yes. A favourite song. A bird singing. The sound of a parcel being dropped outside your door. A running creek. The sound of your motorbike starting. The sound of hello. A whispered affirmation.
When Peace returns you are welcoming. Too welcoming? You are casual. So casual you’ve left notes laying around expressing your love of peace.
A kiss seems appropriate but your affections are clumsy and you walk with Peace around the house as if to say, “Look, nothing has changed since you were last here.”
You shower with Peace. You cook dinner with Peace. Obviously a favourite meal that you are confident with, as a token of your appreciation to have such welcome company. You sit for dinner with Peace and break bread. You savour every mouthful and chew slowly because eating with Peace is artistic.
Late at night in bed you feel the embrace of Peace and her kisses and you would swear that Peace has a perfume. You want to tell her she’s been gone too long and that you nearly forgot what she felt like. You hope to tell her you don’t need her, but you do so you shut up. You hope she never leaves again but you know that she will. You breathe in deeply. You glance through the window and view the stars.
You know what it looks like. A loving text. A photo of an old friend. A cherished recipe. A smile. Graffiti. A Japanese garden in the back streets of Tokyo. A spider web. A suitcase in your bedroom. An open bar when you thought everything was closed. Herbs on the kitchen bench.
Sounds. A voice saying yes. A favourite song. A bird singing. The sound of a parcel being dropped outside your door. A running creek. The sound of your motorbike starting. The sound of hello. A whispered affirmation.
When Peace returns you are welcoming. Too welcoming? You are casual. So casual you’ve left notes laying around expressing your love of peace.
A kiss seems appropriate but your affections are clumsy and you walk with Peace around the house as if to say, “Look, nothing has changed since you were last here.”
You shower with Peace. You cook dinner with Peace. Obviously a favourite meal that you are confident with, as a token of your appreciation to have such welcome company. You sit for dinner with Peace and break bread. You savour every mouthful and chew slowly because eating with Peace is artistic.
Late at night in bed you feel the embrace of Peace and her kisses and you would swear that Peace has a perfume. You want to tell her she’s been gone too long and that you nearly forgot what she felt like. You hope to tell her you don’t need her, but you do so you shut up. You hope she never leaves again but you know that she will. You breathe in deeply. You glance through the window and view the stars.