Tunnel Life by Loui Jover

Feels like all my life I’ve been walking.

Walking through windows, walking along tight-ropes, walking the line,
walking the dog, walking the talk, walking the shame, walking to work,
walking against oncoming traffic, walking the space between the real and
the surreal.

At last in my life, the world has become a rendition of my walk, a
cloistered, reflective space that seeks to show me the shards inside me

that I didn’t wish to see. It’s a place of skewed geometry and imperfect
little squares, of scribbled lines in the backdrop just like the tangled wires
of unfinished thoughts in my head, endless, endless, like the ranting of a
typewriter that is struck by the fingers of a newspaper journalist stuck in
writing gear. It’s a place of upside-down shadows and tunnel vision and
lights at the end of the road that may or may not be the reflection of an
incoming train’s beacon—and if reflection it may be, is the train behind or
in front of me after all?

Feels like all my life I’ve been walking, but the world now is new, the
companionship is new too, and the strange little feeling that gurgles deep
in my throat and tickles my stomach—an invisible pit-patter of hope I
head running on the squares around me—that is new as well.

As is new to me, I welcome this newness.

~Angreek87