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Light Through A Window

‘Ours is a well-lit city.’

I’ve thought these words often; I think them again as I fold my arms tighter in the compressor-cooled air of the last bus for the night. The upper deck is, unsurprisingly, empty – and colder for it. Outside the window, the lights are orange, and the uniform curve in the neck of each Lycorpole street-lamp is something I’d like to think I can be counted on to recognize. It is a notion of home that is as perfect and elemental as any I’ve ever dreamt of, and yet, also, I think, this notion of home is something I’ve grown into rather than away from.

It was on these orange city streets that I used to run in the night-time, an escape at an age when I had too many thoughts and not enough privacy. There were other nights, some of my happiest being those I spent in search of supper after playing a concert, when we would stroll around Holland Village or City Hall, all the while chatting happily or tiredly while the decision made itself. More recently, these were the streets I missed when, in barracks on a darker, off-shore island, I’d dream of Singapore city and how I’d spend my first soldier’s wage.

‘Ours is a well-lit city,’ I think, as my night bus wends its way back home through the mostly empty but still illuminated streets. Behind the window, in cold air and warm light, it is easy to dream.

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  1. GD
    16 June 2011 at 2:27 am

    The imagery of light is prevalent and powerful in this piece. Great job. I always find myself drifting off in thought when I look at orbs of light hanging in the city…

    My writing blog: http://shelleddreams.wordpress.com/

    Great post, I’m looking forward to more.

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