Missing You

January

January 1st

At the strike of midnight, the speakers switched from rousing big band music for the ballroom dancers, to the traditional Auld Lang Syne. I stood there, admist the streamers, and the balloons, and the bells, and the tin-cup noise-makers, and the make-shift horns, in colourful disarray. I sip my champagne from a plastic flute, amongst the handshakes, and the hugs, and the well-wishes. But out of the corner of my eye: an elderly couple -- he was likely ninety, she was probably not much less. Earlier their clasped hands danced in perfect beat to a cha cha cha, as their legs, now worn with age, once did long ago. By the side of the dance floor, they embrace, gaze at each other, and whisper into each other's ears.

Happy New Year.

January 2nd

If a car is the body, the driver is its soul. A car without a driver is an empty shell indeed. A parking lot is a graveyard for cars without their souls; row by row, with license plates for tombstones, and dust as grass growing upon their graves.

But unlike the dead, the souls return. Eventually.

January 3rd

The device is lively and addictive, endearing and interesting. Neither can it be put down, nor can it be ignored. It desires attention and receives it, any sound provokes a response. Ears perk waiting for the faintest signal, the mind processes it swiftly, and the mouth utters it smoothly.

But after you hang up, the phone is simply not the same.

January 4th

Walk left, stand right. Or walk right, stand left. But better yet, walk left, walk right. Or stand right, stand left. Or one arrives first, with the the other only six inches behind.

Escalators are made for two.