There Are So Many People In The

He Thinks About Her, At This Moment, In Her House, A Few Thin Walls Away, Packing Her Life Into Boxes And Bags And He Wonders What Memories She Is Rediscovering, What Thoughts Are Catching In Her Mouth Like The Dust Blown From Unused Textbooks. He Wonders If She Has Buried Any Traces Of Herself Under Her Floorboards. He Wonders What Those Traces Would Be If She Had. And He Wonders Again Why He Thinks About Her So Much When He Knows So Little To Think About.

Now That I've Had A Book Published, It Is Quite Validating, But A Bit Embarrassing.

There Are Only These: Sparkling Eyes, Smudged Lipstick, Fading Starlight, The Crunching Of Feet On Gravel, Laughter, And A Slow Walk Home.

It Is Something I Recognise In Myself. I Do Eavesdrop. I Do People-watch, A Lot.

I'm Surprised, But I'm Glad, I Realise That This Is What I Wanted That Night Last Week, To Simply Make A Connection And Keep Hold Of It.