The Shape of a Day

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Strip away the crowded trains, the office chatter,
the red and green of traffic lights at dusk
and the day begins to lose its edges.

Like an ice-cream that had been left too long under the sun,
the day melts away into shapeless solitude,
made of sunlight filtered through a curtain, a 6-tatami bedroom,
an empty coffee cup, laughter and voices traveling through the ether,
the sizzle of onions in a frying pan, a phone screen lighting up in the dark.

A story needs a beginning, middle and end;
I’m sorry but today, there is no story to tell.

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