For a Moment

White paint runs down walls
Like your tears.
Covering your lurid dreams
With a new start.

You are starting again.
Chucked out the old bed,
The vase, the dried flowers
From your grandmother’s place.

‘Stand still’, a voice whispers.
A voice in the floor. In the air.
The paint falls to the floor. Now,
It hides your wooden memories.

Last time, you promised yourself
That this would be it.
The better time. The perfection.
The ideal. Guess what.

Turn, walk, click, pour.
Teabag steaming gently.
You lean. Sigh. Sip.
A smile.

Tonight, you will stare
At the white ceiling, painted
Stark yellow with halogen paint.
And remember.

This is meant to be it.
Everything better.
Not. Never.
But fine.

Soon, another note on the door.
‘Buy paint’, it reads.
‘Next year blue’, you think.
Another tear on the wall.