Thursday, 19 June 2014

Electric veins and window panes.

You can't see her properly through that frosted prison-glass, but you know she's crying. A tear cascading down her sculpted cheek, gaining speed as it reaches her jaw. It looks bitter. It's cloudy, blurry, not quite in focus. It has mucky fingerprints all over it, and year-old chewing gum stuck to the  corners of the glass. The silence is deafening. The space between the two figures seems miles; totally endless. As one of them presses their palm to the partition dividing them, the other flinches. It's uneasy and clumsy and the encounter just isn't the same. The space between them is too much, in reality a few inches seems infinite. They don't breathe the same air, or drink the same coffee anymore. Their voices are only met by plastic echoes, their touch is never truly felt, through a thick wall of loneliness. 

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