negative space.

all the world is greens and blues, and we speak in a foreign language. i’m walking, head down, quick steps. the leaves are sort of translucent, plastered to the pavement after a month of rain. their color has leaked out in rivers, and now they’re only a watery yellow. 

i’m not holding an umbrella. i’ve never believed in them. this time, this year, maybe i’m changing my mind, though. i’ve been soaked through for awhile now, and it’s november, so it’s getting cold. i look up. across the street, a red scarf, weaving rapidly through the crowd. it’s a snatch of colour, something to make me slow, fractionally. i’ll keep walking, head up this time, that red just across the street.

before, i smoked myself sleepy or cried myself dizzy and went to bed in the pre-dawn with the surf pounding and pounding in my head. i was familiar with it, the build-up and inevitable crash. god, i was too familiar. i memorized the tide pattern.

maybe i’ve learned.