Grey
was what she would describe him
grey skies and cigarette ashes
the
matter between black and white
inbetween young and old
He
reminded her of the fury of grey storms
and the impending thunder
she hid from in the forests,
before she met the team.
How
the roar of engines sounded as they churned
and the sudden gush
of air under her felt as the airship soared
when she first
stepped on his beloved Highwind.
The lifting of feet from
solid ground,
how terrifying and boundless at the same time.
Yes, it was then she felt like she could conquer the world
with arms stretched wide and head held up towards the skies.
No, he wasn't like the chimney smokes
which she used to
avoid when she leapt from rooftop to rooftop
Black, half-burnt
carbon, soot and dark charcoal
that clung onto your hair no matter
how hard you wash
No, she bet in that incinerator, he was just
grey ashes
simple grey ashes
(that in a blink of an eye, they
disappear)
Then she wondered,
if anyone of them had put a
cigarette or a cigar in,
so he would enjoy in heaven.
On
second thought, she bowed her head
and whimpered like a lost
puppy.
(Oh, she could have been the one to put in that cigar! Oh
she could have!)
She was sorry she couldn't be the one to
put that particular cigar in.
Sorry for herself, sorry for him,
sorry at the world.
Fingering the cigar, she allowed herself just one whiff of smoke to remember him by.
