All I saw was muted shades of blue, blurring in from every direction. Scratched-out cursives swimming in the sand: defiant political averments; shreds of sober poetry; names of a thousand strangers aligned in disarray.
I kept blinking – a little bit faster than usual – because the storm was like a whirlpool, snatching power from seagulls’ wings. The noise droned unforgivingly in my ears, diving into every frequency, until I wished I could disappear.
Somewhere miles behind the bruised boulders, a strangely holographic voice stirred, haunted by obscurity and shattered absolutes.
I knew she was in pain, and the pain washed over me too, like a solar flood.
“Symmetry for the innocent”, she laughed.
And suddenly we were both suspended in the air, being toyed with by gravity. Unfamiliar memories clambered down my spine like restless animals. A clockwork rhythm.
All I could do was shiver.
Then, as the lump in my throat grew taller, and it became impossible to breathe, I realised I wasn’t dreaming at all.
There are some things in life you can never synthesise.
Image courtesy of: Zaynah Ahmed
Model: Nina Mdwaba