When we wrote letters

I would write a letter again

Because once

When we wrote letters, putting pen to rectangles of thin paper, we would write down words in a format

Address ( where I live)

then , first few lines of politeness

Dear sweet friend

then news, sometimes good , maybe bad

inject humour, lighten the mood, ask about you

Dear friend what will it be

This is how we once spoke

Words on paper tucked into the neat envelope, your address, precious stamp, walk to the post box (red)

A week here a week there and then a reply dear friend

And this is how we spoke

I miss how we spoke

And seeing the letters on the floor, handwriting recognised amongst the bills, other letters

Replying to my questions, neat to start with, almost neat to the end then a scrawl for a signature

Fold it back into the envelope, into a box or a drawer

Safekeeping how we used to speak

How we used to talk

How we once were.

Confusion

(Sometimes) when confusion is the queen

The rose petals she scatters hesitate mid air and then change direction

floating to the side a little

not sure where to land

So she scoops them up again

quickly

and throws them up high

randomly

Down again fluttering pieces red and pink

Other and thither not bumping but not too far apart

A breath of air disturbs , almost chaos when confusion is queen

She like to laugh, not in cruel amusement but in a delight of sorts that control is lost and that chasing the petals is futile… but fun

and maybe , occasionally, they will land in a pattern 🥀🥀

small light

somehow

amidst the gloom

amongst the debris

we must find a little light, a glow, a glimmer

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at this moment in time though, we need a glow, a bit of warmth a hug from a soft light

a gentle guide to pull us through

did we dance

did we dance together yesterday

or was it in my imagination

a kind of hope that maybe it was real

that we danced

maybe sang even

together?

the edge

old windowsill

head up and balance

balancing on the edge

the man on the ledge poised

head turning , maybe looking down but then ahead again, perhaps he’ll pull back now

he was just admiring the view

we were all on an edge

coffee table

I read and then put the book down (on the coffee table)

and the book is shut, bookmarked at a place I felt I could leave it

and go back

at will

when I choose

to the place I left off

and if only life was like that

where we could close it for a while then pick it up again at a good time, a convenient time

chapters end and begin

(balancing act) pastel sketch on sugar paper