Boring Black Handbag

This could all be because my soul is in the words... The thin rain outside... It is in the traffic jam... when I close my eyes and run into your arms, and we sing together, run together, through the crowded streets from my memories, from what was and never was...

They honk and I'm back in a black cab holding a huge handbag... Why? When did I stop being light? Was it when I started an office job, sending paperwork back and forth? Was it when I lost you more than a decade ago? When my teenage years were left behind? Was it when I became ashamed of singing out loud... (well, I haven't really)? When did I simply stop being me? Did I wake up one morning as boring? Was it when life killed my dreams?

I still don't know. But the luminous, starry, velvety gray of London one day became just gray. The sparkly and musical hustle and bustle became a dull scene of cars stuck in silent, or loud sirens. They switched off the cars' headlights. I stopped breathing words, and my heart stopped beating. My childhood's ocean became still. And I started sending and receiving emails all day about nothing. It all became about nothing. Blank or gray. The laughter in the city became silent; every face became expressionless.

I feel like I'm drowning. I don't understand. I killed emotion after emotion, only to sit in the dark and cry out loud -- when they return to the sound of a laptop keyboard. Goosebumps that I can't hide anymore. I look for you every day in everything, as if you could bring me back. As if you could glue the pieces of you and me together again like it used to be. Because our past was a constant glittery party that never stopped -- where the music never stopped -- where my eyes kept meeting yours -- no matter how many people in between us. And my present is a huge, black, heavy, boring handbag, in a silent black cab, in the middle of a dark city -- where I want to scream.