We all know that time, when we have to put heavier shoes on just so we don't feel like we're going to be lost forever with our head in the clouds, our heart on our sleeves, our hands in our pockets, and our knees quaking.
Ears ringing, still reeling. That feeling when you check your clock and it’s 6am. You keep checking then stopping and refreshing. But there’s never any change.
You wanna walk outta your door, have your feet on the floor, and this time feel it more. Feel grounded, out of the clouds but I just keep to seem getting higher.
Never any meaning to these quick embraces, these fumbles and chases. And I keep asking why and looking at him; with his warm blue eyes, they plead with me as I fold my half down.
I’m brown and he’s blue; I’m the frown and he is, too.
He tries to hold me but I run a mile, so he turns away and I feel his gaze leave the back of my head.
And then I want it again, but the next time I get him to turn around those blues are crying. There’s no point in denying I’m cruel. I think I’m the exception but I’m only the rule.
And the look he gives me creates that prickling pain left by the hand even before that stroke had struck. And after that blow your ears are ringing, eyes are stinging, you’re still reeling, with that sinking feeling.
I sigh and pin it back up.
I have my feet on the ground again, but this time I’m running up a sandy verge with my arms outstretched.
LomoLit is series of fresh and original fiction made by lomographers, for lomographers. But if you want more reads to satisfy your analogue soul, then you might also want to check out our articles in The Analogue Reader series!