Hiding his Inertia

Walking through the city I am reminded of a time, long before I came here, imagining it to be such a land of opportunity: a melting pot of culture and ideas; a place where I wasn’t constantly looking back over my shoulder to see if I was being sneered at - judged, sentenced and caged. I remember the excitement on the day I left my sleepy little village, the train, the long journey to all possibility.

Four years later and sometimes I think I can see you amidst the throng of students and muscular laborours donning thick leather work boots - lurking in solitude behind a woman dressed in a head-to-toe burkha, a wisp of your hair waving from behind a jobseekers’ baseball cap. All those faces: every identity and every stereotype reinforcing its position, every fashion sense and every public folly presented as glory. Being spoiled for choice perhaps prevents you from looking. I mean really looking. I know, I’ve been guilty of it myself. A lovely guy dumped because his teeth are too big. A sexy guy now mere history because he didn’t know who Kate Bush was…

But sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I think I catch you looking in my direction. Just a glint of something inexplicable. Barely a fraction of a moment moves by before its gone. I know you’re out there – somewhere.