she lives in a crystal ball of paradise. at the windows flowers of any and every kind sell themselves to you it's a rainforest in a china tea cup on a chipped saucer it's a conservatory in north east England
for 10 years we've watched each other's lives for a while I was small enough for it to be a jungle, somewhere I could get lost in small enough to believe that tigers didn't live in the outside world but then gradually it just became a constant. something in my life that stayed the same and kept the monsters in
entangled in the plants, ivy crept up the legs of a chair. hugging it into the floor such that it too seemed to grow from roots roots which after so long I stopped tripping over and became a part of. next to the chair, fragmented through leaves, bits of a table sat and within that, books, books , books
this well-read vegetation read me as I walked past every day and stared as I changed my routes and grew 2 feet taller as I let others tread my path too, let them get my compost in their shoes and I loved this paradise for not a single thing died or wilted in all of that time and as I walked home carrying satchels of heavier problems I saw this chunk of rainforest and felt safe, somehow
it sits on the end of a long street 5 minutes away from my front door. in it sits a woman who every day for 10 years waves at me but never speaks. not to me or anyone it seems she does not know me I do not know her and yet she waves, and I wave and it saves me.
and I wonder when it started and if she knows how important it is to me or if I started it or she or if her only purpose is to wave or if she even likes flowers or if she is real or if we will ever speak.
I have no answers but one. We will never speak.
a cold day, too cold for October, too damp for mild, milky, smokey October I pass a lamp post not too far away and I see it's peak The conservatory peak and I think ahead and I feel scared for today I am not lost in my problems I am broken by them and think of anything else I think of the woman and of who she is and what she did and I resolve to wave first and I do and for the first time in 10 years there is no one to wave back. but the flowers and even they look wilted
I still wave to the marvellous woman who may or may not be there I can't see her but then i don't know I ever did her paradise is still there though the flowers are pastels and I wave and still, in that glass paradise, nothing wilts or dies
there's a real lady in a real conservatory jungle who used to make my day by waving :)