Work Text:
Sometimes a week feels like a year.
Sometimes it goes in a blink.
Sitting on a cold bench,
legs shaking,
looking for something to anchor to.
Black wren, white gull, grey clouds.
Day after day,
week after week,
shades blurring together.
Pink in my vision,
a spark.
I blink and
Everything comes into focus.
She walks away
and the world blurs again,
a turbocharged merry-go-round
with me wondering which way is up.