Gloaming

It's getting dark early again.

I'm one of those unfortunate people who's mood is influenced and swayed with the world and all it's ways. When the sun shines I get up early and go outside, just to be caressed by the warmth for as long as I can. I used to imagine my happiness was solar powered in that sense; the more I could soak up, the longer I would feel giddy and on top of the world.

Then the sun would make other friends on the other side of the planet and forget about me. I'd see less and less of her. My days would start in the afternoon and by six at night I'd want to slink into my covers, longing for the encompassing rays of normality. I'd sip my hot tea with too much gusto, as if I could close my eyes and pretend the sun was heating me from the inside out. But every time I opened my eyes again, I was reminded it was just tainted water and grain after grain of sugar.

The days are shortening again now. I await the sinking feeling, but it doesn't come. Is it running late? Is it masquerading itself? I search a while, I don't know why, and find nothing. My smile remains right through the day, from my waking alarm to my very last thought and beyond, into sleep. I've started to hunger for gloaming, where the light dips but the mood remains the same and the people take charge of conversation, with animated smiles attached to each name.

I guess the world and all it's ways aren't as influential as they once were. Either that or I'm no longer a child who can be so easily reigned.

Well I'll Be Damned

"Well I'll be damned, that went well."
"And you're surprised?"
"Aren't you? I always fuck everything up. I'm surprised I didn't choke."

She smiled that big bright smile, and took my hand. It was nice to see someone could be truly happy for someone else. There was no jealousy here, and in the future I just hoped I could do the same for her, but I doubted it.

"I'm not surprised," she said.
"Well I'll be damned."

She laughed then and stood up all twirly dressed and overexcited about her motions and emotions. "I'll get us a drink. It's on me."

It was always on her. I watched her as she weaved through the chairs to the bar. She stepped up onto the little rail that ran around the edge and leant over on one elbow, waving down the barman with the other hand. She looked like a little tinkerbell in all the dresses she wore and her short blonde hair. I, on the other hand, looked more like captain hook.

She came back, double whiskeys, and set them down on the table.

"So, now that that's gone well, what's the plan?"
"The plan?" I hadn't really thought of a plan. I hadn't really thought I'd make it through the first step. "I guess I do more, and hope they go well too?"

"Well then," she said raising her glass, "cheers to that!"

She clinked her glass on mine and we drank.

To Death

'I'm working myself to death, quite literally," I think as I puke up another part of my dinner or lunch or maybe the gallon of alcohol I've tested the strength of my body with these last few days and nights or maybe months. I'm now fifteen days into my work week, which apparently is possible, with five days left to go before I'm relieved from my duties and released into the sweet relief of a Sunday morning with yet another hangover.

I swipe the fever from my brow and sit back against the heat of the bathroom radiator. Then I think about opening the window because it's too damn hot and I can't figure out why.

I can't keep going like this, working myself to death in order to get the money I want to go and live a little. It's all too bloody ironic really and it hurts my head and I'm pretty sure I'm also going deaf. All the noise of this city and it's people is alluring but ultimately takes it's toll on a weak and meek little pet like me. 

I've got to rest now, or fear I'll also think myself to death. 

The Boy and Miss City

"Don't get all eggy bread at me"

"Eggy what? Never mind, I'm not. I'm just saying-"

"Well say less."

We sat in ferocious silence while the tension gathered in clouds around us. I couldn't see through the haze. It was different smoking inside, and I didn't like it. My lungs were layered in tar and couldn't take much more. I can hardly make it up a gentle hill these days, so they weren't ready for this challenge. 

I wheezed out as quietly as possible.

"You wanna get out of here?" I asked.

"Not really. Not till you apologise."

I stared at him blankly, waiting for my frustration to subside before I said anything I would regret.

"Don't you know I'm not your..." I lost my words in my thoughts and my mouth stopped moving.

"You're not my what?"

"I'm not your 'little miss city' anymore."

Dawn

Dawn at 21 Harcourt Road, the streetlights are still on outside and their yellow glow is made even more eerie by the low fog that seeped in at some point during the dark hours. I’ve been awake all night with my curtains open, watching the night turn into day. We’re not fully there yet, but almost.

It’s a truly beautiful moment, and one I haven’t seen intentionally in a long time. At 4am when sleep still evaded me I gave in and decided to just stay awake- a decision I regretted till about half an hour ago when the birds started to sing and the world outside slowly started to open it’s weary eyes, rub away the sleep and stretch it’s beautiful arms.

Everything is described as beautiful right now, I realise. Maybe it’s because I’m tired, maybe it’s because everything really is that lovely, or maybe it’s because I’m not articulate enough to call it anything more befitting.

All I know is that it makes me forget my aching, sleep deprived body, and smile.