It was a tick box exercise that I had been through many times before. The lush and satisfying swaying of her hips was met and complimented by the beauty of her face. Tattoos adorned her tanned and lithe arms, the nape similarly decorated. She could lull me into any decaying dream and I would have followed wholeheartedly. She guided me through the process that was to come in some far off distant time, but my attention was not on that inescapable void. It was focused greedily on her, imagining what it would be like to kiss those lips and to sleep by her side each and every night, even though I did not know who she was, nor what her dreams or aspirations were.
Of course I was daydreaming, I was escaping the reality of the situation as I always had in those circumstances. I was lost in a reverence I had not earned nor sought. I looked to the motherly figure of my desires and implanted fake hopes and dreams onto those individuals instead, even as they took me under their wing and I gave wholeheartedly in. In short I became a ward of the system, I did not rebel.
‘Don’t you go too far, you don’t want the weather to turn bad’. It somehow felt like a hollow cry, an obvious plea. I’d never seen him look frailer. I worry now, of course, partly from guilt but also from love. How far those miles seem, how slow the fastest transport is.