By Saphire Favell
I bet you haven’t noticed.
Have you noticed how the seasons have changed? How the frost has withdrawn and the leaves have uncurled to reveal their dormant colours?
Have you noticed how the wind now catches your curls so they dance in front of your freckles instead of lashing, bitterly, at your cheeks? How your wilted split ends stick to your tangerine stained lips? And how the springtime pollen bleeds in the morning from your eyes?
Have you noticed how the taste of fruit is so much sweeter now the suns’ rays have enveloped its’ skin? And how your toes smile more now they are connected to the thriving land?
Have you noticed the almost putrid smell of weed ripple through the warmth of the city? And how church doorways are now home to many more soldiers of the night than during the resentful winter just past?
And your cuticles? How much healthier they look? And how, as the days get warmer, you willingly strip even more of your clothes for the world to glare at your slumped and ageing shoulders?
Have you noticed how much earlier you now rise? How much hungrier you now are. Not for food. But for something else. Fulfilment?
Have you noticed how much more you envy the finishing line? How tangible it almost feels? And how much you want a bite of your enemies fattening points? How you want to slobber all over your keyboard? And wipe the drool with the back of your cohorts hand?
Have you noticed the leaderboard? Who is merely frolicking in the passive tide? And who is truly thrashing against the ocean rocks? Splitting the sea unable to resist the siren’s song?
Have you noticed the lack of small talk? The dissipating ‘Hello’’s and ‘Goodbye’’s? The lump in your throat nearly choking you before the day has barely even broken?
But, most of all, have you noticed how we now have a mere two months left? Are you counting down the days? The hours? The minutes? Have you noticed the power of time? Or lack thereof? How life is so easily slipping and melting between your fingertips? Like the blue icecaps emblazoned by the looming sun.
Well I have.
Which means only one thing.
It’s war, motherfuckers.
No more white flags. It’s time we break our sharpies in half and use the ink to dye our emblems black. And then burn them for all to see.
It’s time we notice all the little things.
So that we can fight. Amongst each other.
But for eachother.
So that one day I can kick you out of my office.
And bloom once again the seasons pass and the sun engulfs the shadows.