The future drips
slowly,
on a sunny day,
and its forecast is cold.
Lost in himself,
with awkward postures
and an air of defeat
that your smile
and your tousled hair
sweep away.
You dodge the bullets,
take his hand,
face the enemy
dressed in green.
You like the colour green,
green tea, too,
but not this moss green
adorning that dreadful uniform.
Slowly, you see her coming,
grotesque and uninhibited.
She tears away your left eye;
your body falls, slowly.
They rush to help you,
your vision clouds,
and you don’t know what to do.
You resist the urge to cry
while a crowd of eyes
stare at you.
You refuse to think
that with one eye
you will ever see again
the vastness and complexity
of this world.
As though, instead of
adding stories,
you wanted to erase them,
subtract them,
tear them out of your life,
just as they have done
with your eye.
