Tuesday, 12 July 2011

Whatever is written

We were looking at each other we think, odd wandering thoughts persisting. I concentrated on the shape of the face, every one's face tells a...? I ate a scone and drank a latte, she had a slice of millionaire shortbread and a larger latte, she had an Americano, she has water, water is clean. I remained persistently invisible, as always. Outside the sun shone, traffic and shoppers passed. When I got home I looked at mine, deeply hidden in the parallel universe of a shaving mirror. How had time played tricks with it, a thousand thousand cigarettes, facial scrubs, alcohol and sugary drinks, shaves, exhaust fumes, summers in Ibiza, Florida and France, rain and salt sea spray, not sleeping, slimy bars of chocolate and greasy fried foods, time, tides, worry and wear and tear, tears, laughter and the occasional heavy handed slap. What I feel is always written on my face.

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