Sidonie Bird De La Coeur17 July 2018
It was almost summer and it was lighter for longer these days. The dying heat of the day wafted off the asphalt, bringing the evening down to a temperature where one could comfortably go without shoes. Nicholas didn’t have the luxury of a balcony, so instead he sat on his windowsill with his suit pants loosely rolled above his hairy ankles, dangling his sockless feet over the last of the evening traffic below.
In my dream, I stand at the triple crossroads. Oily yellow light spills down onto the bitumen, barely illuminating the roads’ beginnings. To the eastern fork, I see the klongs of Bangkok, hear an echo over the long-tail boats: “this way to your past”. To the western way, the Australian countryside stretches infinitely, drowning in heavy rainfall: “this way to your future”. To the northern road, a Janus-voice of twin-speaking conjurers, beckoning me to choose their shadowed path: “our ways are unknown”.
Comments are closed.