Tuesday, July 21, 2009

But not a dream

The drone of the bus engine under me, the low ceiling of shredded white cloud , the dour expressions in the faces of the people around. Yes. this is London.

She had smiled and aid we'd meet again, but I knew better. I would wake up and find myself in rhis world of white sky and grim faces. It's only for a while, she said. Isn't everything, I said. I could already see the corner of light getting through the curtain that I've never managed to fit properly, the world of real getting through and poisoning my dream with news of war, suffering, our brief and impossible stance in this vast and unknowable world.


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