They've painted the front door grey.
When I left for work this morning there was a certain coolness to the air. By the time I had reached town, it had gone, replaced by the heat of this sudden wave. I took my jacket off, tied it into my bag and kept walking.
I am exile here, or the country has a new king.
I cannot find the old kings.
I'm sure they sleep somewhere.
Sudden waves from the window. Watching the summer glitter under too too blue skies.
'They've painted the walls white' said Em.
'They did that days ago' but I don't think she believed me,
I brush my fingers against the dusty grey of the new door.
I miss the blue.
Gone forever like the autumn.
