Moments of transition. A beat of stillness between two sharp sounds. A place to stay – perhaps not forever, but for now, resting in the moment. Centred. Breathing in the summer air, chest rising and rising and rising in one soothing inhale.
It’s all out of focus – soft edges frame my threshold of perception. Learning to be with. Again.
Here comes the city – one limitless expanse of a gentle warmth one usually only experiences after the fact. A present state of ante-nostalgia. Living in freeze-frames of a future past.
It’s home – if only for a day. Beats of the metronome now synched with my runaway heart rate. No longer dragged by chains of a progression of numbers, neither sinking silently to a bottom of a quiet river.
It feels like coming home. I’m here. Now.
The Radical Aesthete 
Hozzászólás