I Want to be Giant

Pink kissed Blue and melted into breathtaking Silver. I like these dreams where palettes can do just about anything you want them to. Stand on tip-toe, peer over the edge of the window, stare at the sky. Blank. I can’t copy it. I’m such an awful singer and unless I’m pressed up really close against him, I suck as a dancer. But I love playing with colour. I like wrapping myself in rainbow scratched scarves. One hand on my hip, head tilted back in smouldering Cleopatra style. Sigh. I feel embarrassed when I chance upon a sad sunset now. Sometimes it feels impossibly far away. Everything. Grass dripping with dew. Just like the poets of old had said it would. Peek-a-boo sun and the dreams of a twenty-one year old. I dreamed of willowy legs and tried on pair after pair of black stilettos in vain. Cinderella. Frogs and Prince Charming. What was the story of the pumpkin? The rude little blue receiver screams out in indignation. I’d rather watch the rain on the window-sill. The last time I took that walk, it was much colder. No déjà-vu. Just the sadness which comes with knowing that you didn’t have to be here to know that it won’t happen. Hold me closer? I’m not quite sure whether I want to say that anymore. I want to wrap my arms around myself and that is where the problem starts. I love me and I hate me. I want to be another me. The one who said nothing at all. I want to be the jigsaw puzzle of memories in the room I am walking around. I want to be that smell. I want to be in your smile. I want to be little again. I want him back and I want to hold onto his hand and walk my tiny stumbling steps behind him. I want to be swung high up in the air. I want to be Giant.