Found Marilyn board under tree. Veering the end of night walk ocean side, a stroll induced by hazelnut mousse, a sugar amped enthusiasm; briskness of happenstance towards the first window. A peculiar tinged hue. Of course, inner document tore open not grasp, no missed opportunity; the segment of squared apricot against house shadow moon cast. Deafening current advice of less document, more being.
How long specific window had looted attention is unknown, until the light bulb switched off. Planting oneself in more dark. Temporary loss of cognition to the enveloped observation, realized only after, the semi- permanent negligence towards a lack of personal space had been revealed. It’s just, as I got closer to the window, the hue differed; curiosity knee deep in twigs, bent at an angle only the distracted mind could bear.
Trespass sought the shadows.
The minimalist light beauties of night- home rows– had ocean drain ears with invisible abundance. Crash symbols. There’s something of the dark, near the shell encrusted body of water. What it does, the embrace, something that beach in light of day does not comply, yet seemingly differs by. A gender bias of situational accordance, same-same yet slightly different.
The lady bleated twice.
Before the window, before the mousse, before the car was even departed for the night walk ocean side whereby board Marilyn was later found, the lady with broken English walked by. Not to be confused with pleaded, bleated, this language of lamb. Ears underwent the surely not ordeal, until the second bleat reveled itself, quite clearly at the beginning of the very next sentence. The bleat directed itself towards him, the other being; the one she was sharing space and a walking exercise with. Two dogs oblivious to their owner’s temporary shape-shift. Even with given absurdity, the tick of approval toward temporary sanity granted a what of it.
What of it.
Were the waves given company, light-bulb juxtaposing moon, toward the spike in blood sugar; aiding walk, with a scent connecting maximum, light-hearted-ness or. The same walk, the same home, the same ocean, the same, seen, on many a similar occasion. Walking just wanted to continue on through, to keep looking, to keep watching, to keep listening. The overwhelmingly generous greet of a fat, brown- orange spotted cat and the warning barks of scared dog. Everything delightful. Even Joe’s Kiosk had been kissed by Magritte.
And there she was, resting under tree, Marilyn board.
Salvaging the little of her dignity, Marilyn tucked under arm. A perfect hand hold to pass the junction of memory; the once was excess of veins filled with numbing distraction towards self-loathe, a reality hard to bare. Illusory escape from a lifelong inadequacy of misfit within a lump sum of body. Acquaintance labelled heaps of chitter- chatter, not even talking about everything with no between. Repressed to a boredom, finally aloneness sought to relieve.