@loungecat

3 years ago

Saturday night, 2am in the morning, the coffee has gone cold and the sandwich looks damp and unappetising. The house lights are switched off, the table lamp flickers, the computer screen is dimmed, lines and lines of text sprawled onto it. A yawn, a sigh, a distracted, anxious mind whirling on and on. The neon lights outside the window have a gravitational pull. Fumbling hands and fingers, an awkward walk. The keys allow a metallic click and the door rattles open and shut. Slouched shoulders, stiff jaw. The air is cold tonight. The windbreaker is pulled tighter and closer. The pace hastens. A hundred metre long walk, two buildings away. An abandoned alley. Narrow, tackily-painted open staircase. Thirty minutes of lofi till the top, thirty minutes of thinking, of missing, of numb and emptiness. The rooftop is spacious, ground wet from the rain, smelling like moss, childhood and forgotten memories. Lighter in hand, cigarette in another. A spark of light. Smoke. Stiff legs cross over the ledge. The city offers a striking view, but it’s hazy and underwhelming behind the dull smoke that numbs the pain and the senses. “Missing you” The letters jump from a building to another. A sigh. Footsteps. A tossed out cigarette. The rooftop is empty when the city turns bright and bustling. -Been having half a year’s worth of writers’ block, this is nice for a change, if anyone comes across this thanks for reading

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