Rambling along again.

Crash; bang; rustle; rustle - kapong!

These are the sounds of someone rambling along – both literally and in the sense of mad thinking.

The ‘kapong’ is the brick wall that the thoughts sometimes hit and the cold steal container of secrets that lie beyond.

Oooooh, there’s a crack! Let’s look inside! See what we can find!

This is partly explained here.

They saw each other by chance, across the road at respective bus stops.

“How are you?” She called out, “It’s been a long time.”

“Fine” he lied, “You look great!” He wasn’t.

He tried not to think about her – at his age it was best that way - but that morning he decided to sit at the top, front seat, as together they once had; he added the numbers on his ticket to see if it was a lucky one and wondered if she was doing the same.

Then he stopped himself, tried not to think about it – it was best that way.

That night the old man sat and poured himself a glass of red wine; the bottle was almost empty but the glass was full.

Just one glass, a Rioja – at his age it was best that way.

He took her letter from his pocket where it always was, and though time had caused much of it to fade he knew what it said by memory.

As he read his mouth whispered the words; “…and I too have run through rain thinking of you.”

When he finished his glass was empty and he, a little drunk, folded the letter and placed it back in his pocket.

Breast pocket of course, he kept memories like this close to his heart.

Looking out of his kitchen window he could see the moon rising behind the trees. It’s light seemed to mock him. She would never look at the moon when he had asked her to, it’s “something you do with someone” she explained, “it means nothing when you are alone.”

“I know”, he would reply, “look!”

But she never had.

He looked down at the paper lying on the kitchen table. It was white and shinning like the moon. He took his pen, black like the night and started to write – Dear Maria….

And then he stopped; the black ink seemed to bleed onto a pool of silver.

“I should leave it blank,” he thought; “It’s probably best that way.”