Walking towards work; dreaming about being rich, staying in bed, champers for breakfast, bending our legs together, and trying out the waffle maker.
Reality floods back and I realise my skirt is too tight; the Covid Spread, like a Biscoff addiction, gone wrong, has me in its hold.
Walking down the ally towards the office, noticing the Passion Pop bottles placed randomly near the old broken door, and feeling university nostalgia coming on like an awkward chance meeting.
Turning back, I see the brick wall, and a door leading to more bricks, pipes, a hidy hole for one. A cat passes over there looking for food in the bins, and I feel sad; humans shit me sometimes.
Standing in an ally, hoping no cars come by to take me from my thoughts, and staring into the magical Dandewrong wall portal, hoping it will take me to another dimension; away from the grind.
Nothing happens. It is a hole in the wall, and nothing more. Then I look again and think this is only a reminder of the crumbling history we once knew. Crumbling history before our eyes, as this place becomes something else.
The tendon snaps; you cry for anyone to come, yet no one can hear you in dark. Limping loudly along; you wish for the comforts of home, to take back those words you said before. The trap you found; you scream knowing no one can hear, as the light of the moon dims, disappears.
I love him, yet I’m am curtailed at every turn. I love him, yet I’m a prisoner in this house. I loved him, then threw the kettle in the bin. I loved him, then he said no open windows. I left him, to curtail my love and my heart. I left him, to find the person I once was.