Around me, death. I feel it on the crusty ground and smell it in the lost air. She braids through my hair and burrows into my porcelain skin.
The wind enters from the East and reveals the urbanity. There is this noise in the city. It breaks the black strip of tar that snakes towards the horizon. I see the sunset eat up the earth and the mountains turn into clouds.
I am isolated and look towards the sea. Beyond the last ghost building, a stretch of blue cuts through the sky. The urban wind nests between my shoulder blades. I am concrete perforated with tube; a book without a spine; stories scattered today.
Homeless people wear their cultural colors. Strawflower plants are planted in unforgiving soil and flourish. The ice kisses my skin all over the strawberry. I take a deep breath in the memory of what was and taste what is to come.
Photo by Mathilde Langevin