Three decades ago and my knees were granite, roadmaps of bruises, yellow and purple remnants of my meetings with the floor. They held no secrets, those colours - I could look at them for hours and see the next destination so clearly, as definite as if it could pop out at any time, teleported through little bursts of laughter and scribbles of fingers in gravel, and suddenly nothing smelled like parchment and everything smelled of new books.

Three seconds ago and my knees were porcelain; I could see nothing but the blue rivers that turn into snakes when I think too much, as to make me stop polishing the walls with a mop, its handle the size of my body. Looking forward to spot any missing imperfections, as to not ruin the reflection. Alas, while looking for those lost glasses, I hope I will never forget they are above my eyes.

Posted 5 months ago