the place where
we touch - feeling
every gust of wind
A month before their wedding day, they break up. And I can't help blaming the weather.
We are changing. Evolving. Into squinting beasts. Half-hunched and stiff of limb. One day they will look back and say, that was where it all started.
The boom of another fallen wheelie bin. Ripped up and torn, the sound of car horns and a siren.
We make hourly trade-offs - moving away from the warmer, quieter, safer core of our home. To the edges. The windows. Our rain lashed fringes. Only two sheets of glass between us and this weather. The pain. We move there because we seek even remnants of light. To read by. To write by. To be by.
now snatching the last
scraps of daylight