Thursday Afternoon

Dust shed from long - gone memories Old clothes cleared from the corners of dark closets Cobweb caked, stained over time (It no longer fits) (Is this mine?) (Wait a minute...i remember!) Orange Happiness. Mayfair. The faded sunshine print on an old dress. Like thin cardboard. An old song. Silently retreating into the corner. Tendrils of string. An echo. (I have been waiting for you) Dirt under my nails. Dust smeared accross my sweaty December brow like thin oily brush strokes by Cezanne. And still time for the soul is different somehow. Undeterred by gravity. Dizziness. Inertia. (Where are you going? Please don't leave me.) Slipping away. Floorboards crumbling beneath my feet like thin sun-baked clay. Grapping onto old friends by their snaky cobwebs, my fingers ripping through their time - torn clothes. Slipping away into the Grey. Falling. (what am i doing here...?) "...hello Granny! We've come to visit you! Do you know remember us?"