Walking home in the rain
after midnight, the street is empty apart bar one girl at a bus-stop. I only
see her properly as I reach the stop, but I register that she is there as soon
as I turn on to the same road. I'm feeling despondent, sloshing in my slough -
broke, afraid of being a failure, vaguely sad that days keep passing by so
drearily, thus acutely aware of a solitary girl on a dark, silent road... There’s
a fribbling of currents – of dreamy introversion and hard, alien reality. Then
I look towards her and hope she’s as pretty as my nightdream would have it. I
see that not only is she pretty, but that she is looking at me and smiling. She
is slender and has long dark hair with a flat fringe meeting her dark eyebrows.
On this dreich night, as I lumber along the street in my vague misery, her
presence is magic. She is a single, pure, insuperable yes. Then I think: she
must have seen me turning the corner and walking up to her, because she was
ready with her smile. And I think back: before I looked at her I was staring up
at the moon in a wonderstruck sort of way. And even then, I knew she was there.
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