Stare right ahead. Your pupils are drillbits: bore a hole straight through the wall, or whoever’s head is in the way. Stare until your eyes get dry. Until it’s all blurry.
I’m waiting to send a letter at the Post Office, and it’s hard to find a soft edge — the lights and ceiling are square and the line of people is straight and long.
Who should have priority in a queue? Is it the old, with the least time left, or the youngest with the most life yet to live?
No one here seems to’ve lost it having to wait, I’ve only had one eyeroll aimed my way. But I catch impatience doing the rounds: teasing with a whisper; mocking with a hand on someone’s shoulder. People try to look the other way. Shuffle their feet. Eyes down noticing how well their laces are tied.
Has everything blurred now? Have you forgotten what you started staring at? Do you feel your fingertips swimming with the haze of your surroundings?
Are you still staring?
Somewhen soon you’ll feel a current. It’s best to assume it’s the Universe.
Say Hello. Say you’ve Been waiting a while, but Not to worry about it. Say you’re Happy it’s arrived.
There’ll be a message that’s meant only for you. Start memorising it or find a piece of paper. Place your hands on your heart and it’ll speak louder. Or if not, prick your ears up all spooked rabbit. You’ll hear it more clearly either way.
Suddenly your eyes will close as you can’t seem to listen unless you stop seeing.
Take in as much as you can, the current will soon fade.
Did you feel when you started to return? When your hands felt solid again?
Did you notice the wind bring your fingerprints right back in through the window, smudge the contours onto your skin once more?
Here you are as if you’d never even left. The queue’s smaller now though. You’re next, actually.
Can I send this one Special Delivery please?
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