Sunday Afternoon

Waking up in the afternoon, half the day has already been and gone. It’s warm, but there’s no sunshine. I dreamt of Jackson Pollock, and a taxi driver being shot whilst waiting at a set of traffic lights. His attacker was the passenger sat behind him. He shot him in the back of the head with a pistol. It was instant- blood poured from his nose and mouth without end until he slumped sideways against the window. I watched disembodied from somewhere outside. It was New York, and it was cold. January maybe, with a light dusting of windswept snow.

I’m sat on the floor of my old bedroom. Window open, I can hear an abundance of wildlife in the back garden. Mainly birds though, always singing songs I know not what of. My Vitriol are playing on the stereo, and the aroma of roast chicken is drifting to me from the kitchen downstairs. It’s infinitely better than the scent of shit coming from the toilet produced by my own good self. Although, it can never be denied that a beer shit upon first waking is a glorious thing indeed. Makes you feel part of the universe. Makes you feel, alive. And to feel alive, is all that matters.

I wanted to write a poem, but wasn’t in the right mood. I’m neither happy or sad. I’m somewhere in between. Maybe after I get in from work later tonight, I’ll write one whilst having a bath. The warm water always brings out my tender side. It coaxes the little boy out in me, gets beneath the armour. The dust and boredom is washed away, and for a brief moment, I’m honest and true. Moments in time. That’s all that there is. A collection of smiles and tears, memories that bloom in the blink of an eye. Melancholy. Joy. Pain. All of them, swimming beneath moonlight. Romantic like a Van Gogh landscape at night. All of what I am, dancing among the stars, for such a tiny amount of time.

Grains of sand, slipping between fingers.

Everything should be celebrated, and nothing mourned. Love until it hurts, and never let go of the ones who you love the most. Life is fleeting, and before you know it, you’ll just be another lost soul. A faded photograph, forgotten in a dusty drawer. It’ll be as if you never existed at all. Closing my eyes, all the faces from my past smile. All those golden yesterdays, shining brightly. Let go of all the junk. You don’t need broken dreams and hurt. Embrace everything that makes you happy, and don’t listen to those who tell you that you’re doing it wrong. Life is not a contract. It’s not a business plan. It’s a chance to love and be loved.

The universe made aware of itself. Chaos, love, and wonder. Dancing together with all the joy and true smiles you could ever imagine.

And now I’m off to work. Cigarette in hand, and a mind full of endless possibilities.

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