wind

there's a wonderful stream of silence that rushes between us. we move slowly down the avenue, while the wind tries to tell me a secret, but my ears are covered by my woolen scarf, wrapped around my head like a balaklava. I do like this, I like being in silence. 

a conversation

death starts at any point in time

but it feels different depending on where you are at.

it has a conversation with you,

and you have a conversation with it.

and you don't always have the same appreciation of things.

of music, of the touch of someone you love.

of pain. of misery.

it vacuums out the light in your empty spaces.

but it gives the space to fill it up again.

it feels like at certain times it comes back to me

and follows me around until i manage

to sit down with it and have a brandy.

i don't know if it will ever get easier.