Not everything is easy around Christmas, and I’ve been trying to let off some steam by doing a weird and (un)wonderful thing, which is to use Facebook statuses as a sort of extended “Haiku”:Wikipedia:Haiku, posting micro-stories during my commutes to and from work.
Here’s a little triptych with the last three attempts, somewhat revised to expand upon the rather spartan limits of the status update field:
|Fade to White||Dawn||Constraints|
|And as the mists closed over Lisbon, he watched the orange glow of the lampposts suffusing them, the drumming of a guitar and a mournful voice in his headphones a poignant counterpoint to the emptiness in his mind, to the need of simply getting away from it all, to his yearning for a future that never came to be, as the city unfolded outside his cab window and prepared for another cold night, pedestrian’s silhouettes and livid faces flashing by, again, and again, and again, melding into the anonymity he craved.|| He looked up into the rain as the day broke and saw the glory of it all, life pouring from the skies in glowing droplets that landed softy on his face and flowed down his cheeks in small rivulets, as if he and the world were both mourning that day, a year’s hence, when he had left everything behind, just shouldered his bag and left, bending forwards into a gusting wind and swirls of Autumn leaves.
A small gust of wind shfted another, larger droplet into his eye, a cold little rainbow making him blink, turn his head sideways, smile at the small figure in a yellow windbreaker that stood at his side.
“You know” he said, “this may yet turn out to be a great day after all.”
| Dinner had been a pleasant affair in a bistrot they had found just off the Rue de la Convention, a random detour while walking away from the river and tourist traps, tall, thin trees lining the walk instinctively making them look up at windows lit with soft yellowing light or the flickering of a TV set, buildings themselves peeking over foliage, clouds lit as far as they could see with the sprawling city.
Standing at the window, a cigarette steadily eroding into a little cloud of dancing embers, he remembered the smell of moist earth as they passed a tree, the sudden grip in his elbow as she tripped, hand staying and slipping into his forearm, overcoats conspiring to make them seem like a couple locking arms as they walked towards the subway, her almost apologetic goodbye as she glanced back just before the door hissed closed and she rode away.