MobiusMonday 28 MayMore Like This
Without her, the world is a palette of dull, unsaturated colors, so dull that I cannot even bother to get up this morning. Only the wind brings vibrant memories of the places it’s been, where she is now, where I could be too. This morning, the breeze was alive with Farah. I could taste the whisper of her name, the sigh of her voice, the echo of her laugh. Closing my eyes, I absorb her image: blues-y eyes, jazzy smile, waltzing step.
Farah is walking again. Sometimes she feels so close that I can almost touch her; other times, she is so far, I will never reach her. Again, the wind breathes against my face. I easily shoulder my bag (by now my belongings are few) and begin my trek.
I would walk across the edge of the world to find Farah.
Tuesday 29 May
When the wind had no longer blown across my face, I had stopped yesterday. This morning the breeze set drifting into my lap a dried elder leaf, the fragrance of its flowers still clinging to it, a vivid sme