It was the fresh air of dawn that gave me the first tingles of the day. The sun has yet to rise. All the streetlamps are on but sadly, not enough light. It is always a dark, scary, almost impossible path towards you.
But it’s okay. So far, I have not lost my way.
In fact, I think I know it very well. The numbered flight of stairs and your strong but refined footsteps, they seem to tackle me like “a dredging bucket with hinges like the shell of a clam.” The crooked lines and concrete floors breathe with them, effortlessly disentangling this endless chasm.
Even if blindfolded, with my hands tied behind me, I would still find my way to you.
I knew it by heart. How the chilly breeze passes by when I’m almost there. It’s quite cold, with a whiff of mist. But I’m not expecting rain. Not yet, anyway.
And when we meet, there is nothing but silence. Beautiful, unadulterated, spellbinding silence. There was the synchronized movement of the sheets and the occasional stamps of our feet as our fresh dose of music. A few seconds of awkward glances and lazy yawns and heavy breathings, while the clock strikes to signal the morning.
People began to fill them buses and trains. The cars honked and screeched. The doting husband is off to work and the loving wife stays at home.
It’s a brand new day. It’s the same old day.
But not for me. There was always our moments that never got old. But who cares? It’s over now.
I kept thinking about the big, black parade. It’s all about the big, black parade.
Have you seen it before? Was it there all along? It’s unyielding.
And now, for the first time, I’m lost.
Find me again?