The lover’s eyes

When the bus is going over the hills from Canterbury to Sandwich, the visibility is so clear you can see the ferries in Ramsgate or the highest building in Margate where only those live who claim housing benefits, the sun finding its directions through sparkles of grey. Sheep graze by what you think is a lake of white. 
This optical illusion draws me in so much that it is as if I look into my long lost lover’s eyes, each time on top of a hill, he smiles back and without a word there is a depth of understanding our true feelings.

I don’t rememeber then…the void that a person has left in me. I don’t remember then that for now the emptiness where my heart used to be is behind a dozen doors… again.

And when I sometimes dare peeking in, at 6 in the morning, I stand in front of the last door, with the image of this vast nothingness in my head…and leave the key in the lock, just to never forget where I put it.

One may have robbed me of my true passion for art (for the moment) but not of my analytical thinking. 

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