Rain fails. The city sparkles back as a mirror ball. You feel palpable menace, but muggers don’t like being drenched. No-one bothers, nor cares, much about you, rushing for cover. Then you spot them, the one other person in awe. An exchange, barely noticeable, the acknowledged solidarity of quiet emotion. This frustration: you know you cannot break the private spell. A rainwater drip rolls from your hair to your lip. Is this a kiss? Or course: a flood of hope. Wetened, the corners of your mouth rise, directed towards chance. “Please do something”, you scream out loud in your head.
Knightsbridge, London April 2023. Nikon d750
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Can anyone write poetry in the comments?
From real life experience ? It sounds like stream - of - consciousness Kerouac - style, without drumbeats, of course.