today i left the house,
and left my glasses behind,
and let the world be fuzzy.
the taxi smelled like felt tips,
my sister slept next to me,
my nephew stared out the window,
my mum made small talk with the driver:
"where do gallstones come from?"
the gallbladder, i thought,
but i didn't say anything.
"my mum passed away last december."
the headlights looked like fireworks.
"just sitting there, and then..."
my nephew breathed on the window,
and drew a smiley face,
in the condensation.
"only 61 years old."
the window was cracked open,
just a tiny bit,
and the only way i could tell
the difference between the sky and the glass,
was the slight change in blue.
"i guess, when your time comes, it comes."
we reached a bridge,
the kind of industrial one,
with black and yellow stripes.
only they weren't stripes to me,
they were just colours,
flowing into colours.
and maybe, i thought,
one of those blurry cars,
on top of the bridge,
would swerve and topple,
onto us, and the car
wouldn't be blurry any more,
because i can see things,
when they're right in front of my face.
but we drove safely underneath,
and the blurry cars stayed blurry,
and we stayed alive.
"at the roundabout,
take the second exit."
i couldn't tell the difference between
the headlights and the street lamps,
they looked completely the same to me.
because when the world is fuzzy,
colours bleed into colours,
and lights are explosions,
there are no sharp edges,
everything is soft,
and nothing can hurt me.
when the world is fuzzy,
i feel fuzzy,
and when i feel fuzzy,
i feel something.
it's nice,
when the world is fuzzy.
