7/30/2019 Threstae Duiorema

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She touched me as if she was slipping away. Ebbing out like a tide with a lifetime

and then some more before it returns to me, if ever it was supposed to. The light 

of that August afternoon was the purest light I’ve ever seen. It washed in

through the bedroom windows of her terraced house in Tottenham better than

the light on any other afternoon I have ever known. It seemed to cleanse the

tawdry paintwork and reinvigorate and at once the room became a lush greenfield in summers’ salad times, fresher than the dew and embracing like a placid

Mediterranean sea. She smiled and I could not equate what I felt anymore, my

body bubbled within my tightened electrified skin, this beautiful time, watching

the sea, unstoppable and so beautiful.

Singing Nina Simone we lay back on the bed and watched the clouds through the

ceiling and roof. The sky must have been and was definitely so blue. As easily as

that, we were looking right into the reaches of space, both following the same

trajectory to our home a million miles away. Her smile was broad and with

sparkling mischievous and maternal eyes. Like a joyous visage of all the facialexpressions which I had taken to mean I was not in any danger, all beaming

through one face, simultaneously telling my fears to quell and feel at ease. There

is nothing like that. No drugs or joy could ever recreate the time sat by that sea,

nothing can overwrite the emotional network which fused into absolute in those

moments, the culmination of growing and forming, crystallising and reflecting

into every corner of me, lighting me up so I would forever be able to see.

“Would you like some food, Jackson? Or should I call you Ulysses? Haha!” opined

Queenie. Her breath hushed through her voice like a shoreline soundtrack had

been synced in to her every word, every utterance, every noise a natural and

beautiful phenomena. “You are so right, that is a lovely idea, thank you, I’d loveone if it’s not too much trouble.” Jackson paused for breath, his brusque efforts

were amateurish and uncultured and the sound of his voice sat uncomfortably

against the cherishment he was still feeling within the warm afterglow fusing

into his being. Her cadence had soothed him like calamine. Smooth and soft had

touched his earlobes like a cool summers breeze. He was burning with thoughts

of how this moment could be true, soothed like camomile afternoons, he sipped

on her verse savouring every last drop and slurp, and it’s fair to say Jackson wasin love.