[Sorry sorry sorry!! I meant to post this Monday but I was maniacally cleaning my room and forgot...but here it is. It's all I could manage to do this week - today was my last day of exams so I'll be able to do better after! - so it's not spectacular and is more of a work in progress...]
Crying sobbing snotting people crowd the sides of walls ready to board the next bus, remoras suckling on the maternal wall of faux-stone support. The digital signs announce departures in ten minutes. In half an hour. In three hours from now. The travelers wait, as if their lives depend on it, as if the reason they’re crying will re-corporealize in front of them so long as they stay in this intimate space of concrete and glass. It’s where they last saw them after all. Therefore, by extension, the terminal is them. Logical. Leaving this place means leaving the person. More so than when the person left them, walked away – maybe even ran – to catch their own bus into their next life, the one awaiting them just over the speckled red horizon. Apart from the person left behind. Separate from the searching chronicles of skin left in the cells of memory. Stories left behind that can replay themselves through repetition compulsion in the darkest minutes past midnight. Ripping tears from ducts in painful blinks against the neon glow of clocks announcing just. how. long. it’s been since they last saw their person. Clocks announcing departures. Clocks announcing when they can leave. Surroundings announcing they never can. Never will.
1 comment:
I...I don't know why, but the broken sentences really don't seem to work with this one. It just gives the impression of ideas thrown together, or just...(sorry) a really juvenile way of getting the point down enough.
I do like the idea of it, though. It's...very disturbing. Maybe that's because I just watched a film on the holocaust. But this is disturbing.
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