Half the city was enveloped in a certain degree of twilight-blue darkness, a lone star or two seen winking away mischievously; the other parts of the city were already hugging the soft, golden rays of the sun, well beneath the sky that is made up of myriad vibrant shades of yellow, orange and blue. Bridging these two still-sleepy worlds were many clouds of angry red that dotted the limitless canvas above: it was as though an artist had had a sudden epiphany to present his work as a window to the fiery passion he possessed, with hopes that that may one day set free his soul to either sides of the divide.
My heart soared at the brilliant sight of it all. It took away the Monday blues, yes – but no more than that, unfortunately.
I have been impatient.
Days and dates are meant to come as they are. We do not miss a busy Wednesday and skip through to a lazy Saturday, however much we wish the weekend could come sooner. Time machines are, after all, ingenious inventions meant for a much greater good than this. Perhaps we are meant to conquer the world bit by bit, minute by minute, one tiny step at a time, complemented with the occasional fits of temper and childish tantrums, even at the ripe old age of thirty. It builds character, after all – or so they say.
The likeliest solution to speeding up time and making the future come tomorrow, is to forget the past and embrace the present with arms wide open. But with the many definite uncertainties and unyielding transformations all set to take place this week, this is fast becoming easier said than done. Fraying and twirling at the edges, like a ball of yarn that had become the constant subject and experiment of a curious kitten, the many threads of fate are now slowly unravelling as the countdown begins.
Already I am wishing I am back home again, and I have not even left.
I never thought about love
When I thought about home.