Friday, 11 November 2011

Up Here

From up here, I can see my house. I can see the smoke rising from the chimneys of the houses near by, and I can see my chimney quiet and cold because I am not there to tend the fire.

From up here I can my friend's baby being born, and I can see the scarred blackened tarmac of the M5.

From up here I can see my grandparents standing on the steps of Morningside Church in Edinburgh, my Nana's veil flying theatrically in the wind as my Pop stands to attention in his RAF uniform. I can see the smile on her face as wide as the sky itself.

From up here I can see myself kissing my first love, and still feel the softness of his sofa underneath me. The echos of his dog barking and 'They Might Be Giants' joining the wind in my ears.

Up here we are removed from the world, and maybe if we stayed up here the world would forget that we were ever down amongst it.

Up here we stand like giants,

Up here, we can touch the moon.