As July passes.

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I saw the city melt last summer.


All its noise and infinite detail pooled at my feet in a simple mess of concrete and glass. It slowly crept forwards before whisking me away into the depths of an immaterial place. It felt comforting to be swept off my feet. Worldly rules became weightless, swirling into the same inseparable shades of grey that I was wading through in silence. This night was not to be reasoned with.


Rhythm had no reign here either. The hours were locks of charcoal hair, unravelling in even the lightest of breaths. In this impenetrable vastness I heard the floods of the desire crashing against walls that were slowly giving way. The torrent moved so quickly that right in front of my eyes its frothing rage froze into an undisturbed stillness. Wisps of doubt crystallised into unshakeable belief.


When the mess of grey and silver retreated and gradually froze, the streets didn’t look the same. The corners weren’t quite as sharp and the bends seemed to turn without end. The buildings were painterly effigies, drawn from memory.This molten maze was mine to wander in. Mine to retrace. Mine to erase. 


I see flashes of that place every now and again. Sometimes the metallic scent of moonlight cutting through cloying jasmine bloom takes me right back there. Today as I watch the tendrils of the setting sun wrap themselves around the fig trees, I feel the ground shift again, just as it had done that night I swam through the city.



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