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The raindrops gleam an iridescent array of patterns, contrasting against the ebony surface of the lamppost. Lightly resting my fingertip on a droplet, it erupts into a panic, skipping and sliding in a rush to my palm. The final, early evening ray of sun breaks through the clouds, shining onto the bejewelled surface of the post. Raising my admirable gaze to the arms that are held out above me, I smile. The arms reach out to cardinal points, yearning to show others the love and warmth it so graciously shares with me. The arms are strong, and secure, yet nurturing and sheltering, blessing you with a rich glow in hours of darkness. Crowning the arms is a display of dancing waves, prancing to the score of an imagined orchestra. The music takes hold of the lamppost in its entirety. Lowering its top hat in such chivalrous politeness, I join in the animated dance. Abounding down the streets; flowing down the rue De La Commune and gliding under the wilted trees, the lamp-post calls to its brothers and sisters to join us on our manic parade. I look at my new friend with pride. I know I shouldn’t join in, but the music holds on. It consumes me in an invisible web of entrapment, every note a hair of silk, skipping up and down my arms with childlike laughter that arouses my ears. Feeling a pull at my arm hairs, I release any control I hold over my limbs and allow them to slip into delirium. My legs begin to skip. Skip, skip, skip along the cobbles, and stop. My fingers explode into stars, like fireworks. Feeling the excitement my hands just expressed, my legs lead the way towards the side of the road. The most pristine, flawless rose is leaning over the gate, escaping from a private garden. Running my fingertips over the velvet petals, ever so lightly so as not to bruise or damage them. Leaning down, I inhale the deep scent and smile. Feeling an unexpected drop of moisture on my palm, I dismiss it with a wipe. Drip, drop, drip, drop. With a frown that strangles my sinuses, I look at my hand. Drops of red, stain the blank surface of my hand. Hypnotized by its colour, how it reminds me of drops of rubies that I, only I, have the pleasure to hold. Hiding them from the outside world, I place my clear hand over the top, and guide them into my pocket. Tap tap. A cold hard poke into my shoulder tells me my friend is ready to move on. I breathe a sigh and rejoin him. He hums along to the music, which pulls the corners of my mouth upwards. We jauntily dance along, ignorant to the darkening sky and the menacing alleyways. Coming to a halt, my friend lowers his now glowing head, in respectful acknowledgement of the regal sector. I curtsey for the Rue Queen and King, staring in amazement at the streets of gold. My friends lowered head has provided a lightshow, soothing the harsh walls and pavements, covering everything in his protective glow. As I rise, my ears are overwhelmed by my creaking bones. Like old doors that shouldn’t be opened, I wince in cowering apprehension of the pain. My friend understands. He knows when I need him. Shifting himself to my side he allows me to grab onto his neck. Holding onto him, he takes us backwards on our journey. Leaving the baroque fantasia of this evening, back towards the dawning reality, I shiver. My eyes adjust into focus and I see again. I see the shopkeepers pulling down their shutters, frozen in confusion at the sight of me and my friend. Families enjoying early dinners, distract the eyes of their children, and slowly shake their heads. As my friend lowers me onto a bench, I look into his now clear eyes. The pupils so small, so sinister looking, surrounded by such a tranquil, calm blue sea. With a look of sadness, he sits down next to me with a sigh. The look of disapproval, the slight contempt, the disbelief… As I pull his arm around me, I feel a tear reach my lips with the salty harsh taste of pain. I wipe my eyes only to feel dryness. And so he cries. I thought we would become closer in a lucid dream. I look up at his tear soaked face. Kissing his salty lips that refuse to reciprocate, I whisper an apology. His hand reaches my cheek and turns my face away. Lowering his head, he puts his hands over his eyes and his shoulders pulse up and down, jerking with his outburst of emotion. My fingers trace the outlines of my fresh scars. I think our journey ended far too soon.

Such a weight, I simply cannot lift. I wade through my slow-motion stupor. Trying to remain within our conversation, I force life into me…with a pinch. I wade through the slow-motion stupor With eyes that soften your edges. Forcing life into me, with a pinch You are sharpened. Clear. With eyes that soften the edges, I force my movements, faster. You are sharpened and clearly More advanced than I. I force my movements, faster Trying to remain within our conversation. More advanced than I, Such a weight, I simply cannot lift.

Yuck, yuck. Bitter, bitter. From the seas and not the river. Making me and evil shiver Hush evil, salty river. From the seas you came to me, Sprinkle, tinkle - fish and peas? Rocky, grainy, fine and grind. Grind grind, to sprinkle peas. Icky icky infection on me Swooshy swishy on me, in me Nanny’s orders, wash it out From a glass and not a spout