In the garden I found myself. It’s been above the sink all along as I washed the hundreds of dishes in a year. And this one quiet evening I stopped the taps and felt it the same, passive and cold behind glass. And yet it called for me now, in a voice I’d never heard. This first solitary dusk was a calm breath after drowning. There was no coughing or gasping, just a long slow draw from the new air back to life. And as I broke the surface tension, the water drained from my saturated senses. The liquid blur blinked out and the pressurised muffle poured from my ears, rupturing pulsing occlusion from a skull that had numbed to its squeeze. I heard above the gargling bubbles, the echoes of promises I’d made to myself in different times. The call was my own, distant now, from before. And with nothing hanging in the fresh twilight air, I followed it out into the night.
Quit Vision 