Windy Days

It’s windy, and the breeze bites my skin

Like icy teeth, and I wish that there was someone

To share this with me

It’s cold

 

The bridge is old, older than my pap, even

Aged, creamy, beige wood, full of kinks and curves and imperfections

Like our lives

It’s cold, and windy too

 

I’m in a watercolour painting

The gunpowder sky, the harsh bone white cliffs, the green hairs of grass, the deep blue river

Everything feels flat, and painted on canvas, a rustic look

It’s cold, and windy, and bleak too

 

The cliff and the outcrop of rock, standing there since

Time immemorial

Monuments to the ever present, never tiring will and force of time

 

The warm darkness

Arms to cuddle in, a shoulder to nuzzle against

So near, yet so very far away

 

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2 thoughts on “Windy Days”

  1. My favourite lines: I’m in a watercolour painting

    The gunpowder sky, the harsh bone white cliffs, the green hairs of grass, the deep blue river.

    Very evocative; I’m there. Thanks for sharing your writing, Jian.

    Like

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