It is always Spain out where you
are.
The last rays of the perpetually
setting sun
always glow as they warm the
brick
that never cools.
The water is always calm, where
you are,
and you are always laughing.
I have been coming to this
coffee shop
for five years now, studying
your world on the western wall,
trying to discern your secrets.
You have not aged a day since we
met.
The creases at the corners of
your eyes
have not deepened, the smile
in your eyes has not gone out.
You have never grown bored.
Is it lonely to smile all the
time?
Does it hurt to never move?
Do you grow tired of watching
Do you grow tired of watching
the same swatch of sky,
waiting for clouds that never
come to
hide you from the sun?
Do you wish someone would repair
the paint
peeling from the steps on which
you are
perpetually perched?
Do you even know that it is peeling?
Can you see it in your periphery?
Can you consider it?
Or can you know only the vacant, cloudless sky
Do you even know that it is peeling?
Can you see it in your periphery?
Can you consider it?
Or can you know only the vacant, cloudless sky
and the weight of your happy
paralysis?
...And then I got distracted by the mural. Fun facts: there's no girl in the actual mural. And it might be Greece instead of Spain. But it's like the quintessential mediterranean. Anyway. The bit with the paint at the end might be lame. I might take that out. Its sole purpose was to question what the girl in the painting can and can't know, and whether her mind is, in fact, as blank as the sky. What might be more effective for that is to ask something to the effect of, "do you even know why you are smiling? Do you remember what joke made you laugh to the sky the moment before you found yourself frozen?"
I also think the base narrative here would be a good one to pick up again sometime and drive more toward the nature of the present moment. Maybe this already does that. But in revision, I'd like to give it more philosophical resonance to the end that one is always trapped in the present moment, but that looking back, not even that will seem real.
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