by Parineeta Singh
It was neither you, it was neither me. It was the hazy sun which shone and the lazy clouds which yawned.
Above the grey statue; us just standing across the marketplace. It was the pink flowers in their white marble pots.
Pedestrians hurrying across the bright square. What happened was an act of stepping out of our lives. It was the sunlight bouncing off the grey statue. Pink flowers nodding lightly against the rushing breeze –
It was neither you, it was neither me
The day on which you kissed me
At ten past two on a simple sunny afternoon
While the traffic busily whirred by.
Parineeta Singh lives in London. Previous publication credits include the Casket of Fictional delights, and the Word Bohemia Magazine.