A January Day in West Sussex

 

As the glass fogs over

and the street disappears,

Rows of dirty houses

Erased by condensation.

I hover outside windows

 Seeking the stories within

Wondering if lonely souls

Gaze outwards, pining.

Suddenly the world is shrinking

And I am back, chilled on the bed

Hand shaking around cold pen

Feeling so small

under the weight of the

Enormity of it all

 

Beck Sian