The windows are painted with diamond encrusted raindrops and I am reminded of Sundays stood at the back door looking out at concrete and the heavy black emergency iron stairs that hurt my feet so much when I walked down them bare footed, still I walked them without shoes for I was a teenager and iron stairs could not defeat me. And I am reminded of the fold away stool that sat beneath the breakfast bar with the brown cord seat. I think of you, Nick, and our plates of savoury rice covered in butter. Your wings out stretched black feathers surrounding me, we are laying together in that old Victorian house, at the height of summer, our bodies hot and sweaty we sipped on cider as a breeze whispered through the balcony doors. A storm rumbles in the distance, we play music loudly, flashes penetrate the room so we lay naked beneath the glaring light that casts away all shadows. I wonder still now did we sleep at all that night or did the hours tick away among the silence of two broken souls finding solace in the twilight hours. That summer soon ended and I bid a farewell to the brown cord stool and the concrete garden that I had spent hours bouncing a ball in. That was the summer of change as your black feathers shielded me from reality allowing my soul time to rest and heal, as I rose once again to my feet, you bid farewell sealing our time with a kiss that spoke more words than either one of us had ever been capable of.
Karen Hayward ©2016.