Pressing fingers against my lips, as I hauled my bicycle down the street I paused - his taste still lingered on, it flooded me with something sweet and sugary but just an inch away from toothache. And as I paused the street around me turned blanc - it could only exist in motion and be appreciated through the movement of the pavement under my feet, or so it seemed. I stared down and walked biting my lips, I shuffled rapidly as if in pursuit for that sweetness filled me up brimful, it appeared to fuel me from within creating a motor that just ran itself in a state of perpetual motion. Or was it the air? I paused again and remembered the air around him - it was so beautiful that the street lamps must surely flicker as he passes by. He had that aura, that luminescent glow.

I sat down to write, but paragraphs fell short and abrupt, the isles of narrative racing past me, gleaming in the morning flare of the new day being born. The horizon twitched and convulsed spewing the air with shades of peach and lilac until the sun bursted out of Earth and onto the fields beyond the Thalys window. Nothing stood still today, and I couldn't help but wonder whether yesterday's emotion has triggered the motion of the new dawn that painted the sky in myriad of colours for my mere entertainment aboard the high speed train, and whether the motivation I had today to kick start the week was due to some hidden motive of his, and whether it had anything to do with a locomotive that was dashing me off to Paris. The words have tied a knot around my neck - and if I were to stay on this train of thought any longer I would be soon tied up in the most explicit way of Kinbaku art and left there hanging.

There was nowhere to go - the train has slid the path through planes of somewhat even grassland in such precipitation that I could no longer follow the straight and solid storyline of my own. The thoughts ran errands - a murmur in the air-conditioned haze. Godspeed you, reason!


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