The looming belly of purple clouds poised in juxtaposition to their fluffy, flossy, white scalps all set against a blank blue backdrop stolen from the Truman Show. They shuffle along the horizon in constant transience between bright light and doom. The sun is gloating. Slipping sly glances through the gaps it allows in the bi-polar clouds.
All is well in the world when oblivion and soft shy happiness walk shoulder to shoulder. I am loved and in love. I am alone and in loneliness. I am tragic and in tragedy. I’m in between the dreams of troubled clouds.
* * * * * * *
He takes a deep thoughtful breath. As though the truth might be found at the bottom of his lungs.