It’s a quarter away from seven and the skies are whispering rain. We’re on a patch of green that almost caresses my bare feet as we walk along aimlessly to a spot empty enough to huddle five. You can feel the wind brush your hair away with the taste of thunder on its tongue.
It’s a quarter to six and you can see the winter nudging your sleeves as the wind picks up. You can see the pavements light up with their enlarged fairy lights and a lazy rush flood in. I glance at my ten year old watch as the signal still speaks red. Ten minutes to six. It’s an odd hour to hear Kishore on the stereo but I’m the last to complain. That’s if you ask me to at gunpoint. The road starts to clear and Kishore and I make our way back to the house by the time the clock strikes six. I’ve walked up to the front door but I can’t seem to look at it with its carved roses and clear glass that bends the light in the most magical way. I can hear the blood gushing through my ears ferociously as though it pumps right there. I place my left palm on the door, letting my skin recognize warmth on its cold surface. There isn’t any noise in this part of the city. You have the silence and the waves to keep you company. And my uneven breaths.
The light beside your name is on,
And I’ve been informed,
That you’re awake.