the threads in her head

It is not raining.

Neither is the sun shining.

Night has fallen.

Stars scattered out among the velvety black like diamonds? I wish, but it’s the lights of the flats out beyond that twinkle, and not the stars.

I just saw a very beautiful belt - sleek, smooth with that shiny metal clasp. No, it’s not a highly reflective shine. More like this soft tender shine to it. Tender. So that’s how metal can be described to me – tender.

A cool dull metal described as tender. What images does that provoke in your mind?

Somehow, I crave to be outside now, taking pictures.

A kind of wildness in me has awoken. It stretches out lazily and yawns. And then it’s prowling around. Exploring its surroundings? Perhaps.

It’s me.

I want to go out at night. Sit somewhere high where I can see the stars. Look across the waters. I want a camera beside me, and I can take various photographs, from strange unique angles. Capture life in its fleeting moment. Of a bird flying across the sky. Of leaves swaying in the breeze. A cat slinking away. A leaf floating slowly down.

And how about a deserted road? Look at it, with the streetlights shining down on it. Imagine sitting down there – either with no fear of cars coming, or with trepidation that a car might come.

A few more years perhaps, and that might happen. I can wait, I can.

But such romantic ideals are often shattered in reality’s wake.

And I wonder, so what if they happen? What would they be, with no one to share it with?

Many moments were special, memorable, because someone else was also there.

And many moments, I was bursting with something to share. And there was no one to share it with. I don't know my neighbours. None are near my age anyway. Either very old, or very young. It's been a long time since I called a friend just to chat. I don't think I even have numbers of my friends in the first place now.

The moment does fade.

And people forget when they are not reminded.