Good morning, good afternoon and good evening readers,

Today’s blog post is a little different. I’ve been trying to focus on my writing and that involves writing any old shit that comes out of my brain. This piece is inspired by a collection of short stories entitled ‘The Elephant Vanishes’ by Haruki Murakami. Here is a short letter to the man who lives across from our balcony. We see him most mornings and it got me thinking…

Well, read on to know what it got me thinking. K, thanks, bye.

Good morning Balcony Man,

I wonder where you are off too today. Dressing gown shed and outward attire no longer looking inwards. Dampened matted wool once encased your body, a sheep dog left too long out in the wet fog. Now in its place, a chosen, black, half zipped jumper. This is who I am today, you must think. We all do too. You aren’t alone. You’re reading a book today. I wonder what changed your mind. Did the electronic hand-size screen leave you feeling unfulfilled? Did you see your reflection staring back at you? Desolate and bewildered by the AMAZING lives of others. A miniature black hole in which you are a silvery silent ghost. Don’t panic. The novelty will never expire on books. There is no shelf life. Fondness can always been found in the initial crack of the spine, the cool breath of each page turned. An intimacy where the book expresses love with words and you reciprocate with mindful actions.  I am the book and he is the reader. The reviews aren’t meant to be heard by people like us.

You’re coughing Balcony Man. Sharp, instant coughs with a scratching, scratching, scratching. Is everything okay? How often are we asked that question? The dark stagnant beneath, creeping and clawing its way to the surface. In spluttered stuttering you release it into the world. The bad can’t sit inside of you forever. It needs respite also. Don’t let joy be selfish.

What other things have you changed today Balcony Man? Your appearance is raring to go, but where exactly too we are yet to know. We all have our secrets. And yours starts with your Saturday morning brew. It must be tough navigating your day on the precipice of a secret. A hushed murmur of physical deception. You’re really a house coat kind of guy, right? But you know the world wouldn’t accept you. Rejection is inevitable. Only those within your own home and us, in the tens of opposing flats, can see your TV screen life. Housecoat, how formal. Dressing gown, how decadent. The whole thing a dirty little secret. Everything has its place, doesn’t it?

Let it out. And breathe.

You’ve moved to the other window, the view obstructed by the dense cold concrete. It must be raining. Sometimes it feels like it always is. This is a predicament that many of us experience Balcony Man. We hide from the beating, throbbing rain. And as a consequence we are blind to the glorious rising sun and all that glitters in its bright bursting light. It really is gold, always. That’s what I love about the rain and sun BM. It always takes its course, whether we are there to see it or not. Though perhaps for this Saturday morning it’s okay. Sometimes the beauty in the world is too much. Have a lovely day Balcony Man and remember not all that’s sheltered is alone.

Do you see us through the slight gap in our bedroom window Balcony Man? Are we your Balcony Couple? Legs silhouetted by the amber glow of the lamp. Touch lamp on one, I always touch to two. The volcanic slit showing just enough of one part of our lives. But that’s all you are allowed to see. The rest boldly blocked out by the black-out blind. No chance of it being drawn any higher. Don’t even think. I wouldn’t even ask. We won’t let you in on our snoring, drooling slumbers. For when you watch someone sleep you witness them without their mask. A victim of transparency. We all tremble at the thought.

I guess the main thing I want to say Balcony Man, the closing line is… And wait for it, it’s one we have all heard many times over. Life’s big recital. Are you ready? Is your coffee still piping hot? Take a sip, feel the pulsating liquid trickle down your throat. Feel the fleece hug your weathered yet plump skin. It’s coming. The words about to escape my morning dried lips. The dried prunes want to speak up.

…
….
..

We’ve been waiting too long. We always wait too long to say the things we really mean. That which we wholeheartedly feel with every pore of our encased souls. Ready to shatter the physical Balcony Man? It’s cracking. Tearing. Splitting. I just wanted to let you know that…

“You…”
“You are not…”
“You are not alone…”
“Even when you feel it most”.

That’s it.

Now that’s over, you have a lovely day. And I hope you catch that bulbous scaled carp you’ve been waiting for. Because we’ve all been waiting too.

Oxygen bubbles permeate the surface and silken ripples change your path.

I think it’s coming. Hold on.

Yours in kindness,

C x