POOL OF PONDERINGS

Those things, those intangible things, are seemingly easy to shatter, are they not? The colourless strands, intertwined, woven in the air. The string tied to your little finger, leading God knows where. Your favourite colours, beautifully dispersed over the highway, passed by merely for the sake of it.

But we wouldn’t really know, now would we, until we finally realise that our hand is dripping with blood from the cut on our fingers, or the fragments of glass lay around our naked feet.