Its always wallets, they always think alike i never could understand why. They always gifted wallets - the most intimate ones, the ones closer to heart than the aorta. The ones who we thought will never leave, but looking back now who seem to be so far into the past that their existence seems like a hazy afternoon dream, from which you wake up gasping for breath, thirsty and drenched in sweat.
The wallets they predicted things. Their physical condition correctly represented the tides and tribunals of the harmonies we were creating together. And just before it was set to snap, the thing we thought was never going to end, the wallet would always give way. They predicted things.
Its nothing to do with the contents it carried, it was as if these wallets were the physical representation of all the poems we wrote, the poems which went on to become life song, the songs which changed pitch too often, the longings, the questions, the drift apart, the looming dark clouds, the shadows and the ultimate darkness. They never could survive till the ultimate darkness arrived, they would always give way, the wallets.
But this last one did outlast the entire song and dance episode, as if it wanted to tell us something. The leather shined brightly, showing the poems were still been written, the condition perfect representing a resonating frequency , a frequency which can create great harmonies. But the truth was something different. The wallet after all was an inanimate object , but it did live and breath.
So was the harmony between these two persons still living and breathing, maybe a muffled breath, never to be heard; buried deep within layers of ego and societal pressures on top to give it a justified healthy look.
We never had a proper closing, the loose ends still dangle around how hard we try to hide them.
The wallets they predicted things. Their physical condition correctly represented the tides and tribunals of the harmonies we were creating together. And just before it was set to snap, the thing we thought was never going to end, the wallet would always give way. They predicted things.
Its nothing to do with the contents it carried, it was as if these wallets were the physical representation of all the poems we wrote, the poems which went on to become life song, the songs which changed pitch too often, the longings, the questions, the drift apart, the looming dark clouds, the shadows and the ultimate darkness. They never could survive till the ultimate darkness arrived, they would always give way, the wallets.
But this last one did outlast the entire song and dance episode, as if it wanted to tell us something. The leather shined brightly, showing the poems were still been written, the condition perfect representing a resonating frequency , a frequency which can create great harmonies. But the truth was something different. The wallet after all was an inanimate object , but it did live and breath.
So was the harmony between these two persons still living and breathing, maybe a muffled breath, never to be heard; buried deep within layers of ego and societal pressures on top to give it a justified healthy look.
We never had a proper closing, the loose ends still dangle around how hard we try to hide them.
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