![[FnG]magnolia](/styles/overclockers/avatars/9.png){kind=avatar}
Caporegime
- Joined
- 29 Aug 2007
- Posts
- 28,847
- Location
- Auckland
it had been a fantastic day we all agreed and even the gusting wind played her part.
- it feels like a stranger blowing on your neck, you say and i think about this before nodding, unsure. you are still talking but the wind raises her voice and all i can see is your lips forming shapes. i choose not to kiss you and you seem unaware, content.
- i think it's been a fantastic day and even the gusting wind is playing her part, i laugh. you look puzzled.
- that sounds familiar, you say, and you’re right but neither of us can place it.
it was december when it happened and it took the whole month for events to unfold, to be fully revealed, and even now when i look back there are pieces which still do not fit and make little sense.
- it was never an event, you tell me. never a ‘thing’.
i’m staring at a picture of a sunset. i don’t know the name of the art style or even the artist but i can tell that it is crudely drawn which is perhaps intentional and the stick figure which is i suppose the focus is made of thick black lines and two dots for eyes. we’re looking at him side on and the sun even as it puts its night clothes on is still glaring and angry, the stick man’s shadow painting a long shadow onto what i think is a beach.
- no, it wasn’t, i agree. it’s okay, i finish.
there is another detail in the picture which i spot. the shadow doesn’t make sense and the perspective is skewed and once I see it i cannot unsee it (‘the fedex arrow!’ my mind fills in for me).
- i’m glad you understand, you say. do you want to talk about it?
- the sun doesn’t look like that, not in december, i say.
- pardon?
- it’s sitting too low in the sky, like an overweight egg.
there is another figure in the painting which i initially thought was a rock or perhaps a sandbank. he’s very far out to sea and the arm pointing straight up like an exclamation mark demands help.
it had been a fantastic day we all agreed and even the gusting wind played her part.
- it feels like a stranger blowing on your neck, you say and i think about this before nodding, unsure. you are still talking but the wind raises her voice and all i can see is your lips forming shapes. i choose not to kiss you and you seem unaware, content.
- i think it's been a fantastic day and even the gusting wind is playing her part, i laugh. you look puzzled.
- that sounds familiar, you say, and you’re right but neither of us can place it.
it was december when it happened and it took the whole month for events to unfold, to be fully revealed, and even now when i look back there are pieces which still do not fit and make little sense.
- it was never an event, you tell me. never a ‘thing’.
i’m staring at a picture of a sunset. i don’t know the name of the art style or even the artist but i can tell that it is crudely drawn which is perhaps intentional and the stick figure which is i suppose the focus is made of thick black lines and two dots for eyes. we’re looking at him side on and the sun even as it puts its night clothes on is still glaring and angry, the stick man’s shadow painting a long shadow onto what i think is a beach.
- no, it wasn’t, i agree. it’s okay, i finish.
there is another detail in the picture which i spot. the shadow doesn’t make sense and the perspective is skewed and once I see it i cannot unsee it (‘the fedex arrow!’ my mind fills in for me).
- i’m glad you understand, you say. do you want to talk about it?
- the sun doesn’t look like that, not in december, i say.
- pardon?
- it’s sitting too low in the sky, like an overweight egg.
there is another figure in the painting which i initially thought was a rock or perhaps a sandbank. he’s very far out to sea and the arm pointing straight up like an exclamation mark demands help.
it had been a fantastic day we all agreed and even the gusting wind played her part.
