Tarmac Scars

I never knew you, except for what I’d read. That we’d been to the same school and your favourite colour was pink. But I got to know your tarmac scars and the bump in the road that makes the cars bounce on their way up the hill.

I knew of your friends too, at least, an outline of them as they sat on the pavement, illuminated by candlelight on a particular night. I came to know their piece, sprayed in bold colours on the wall outside the flooring store.

I became familiar with the offerings that sat in the undergrowth by the roadside and witnessed, with the turning of the season, how they were gradually swallowed up by swelling bushes. And I noticed (who couldn’t) when the wall got repainted a sickly orange after a kitchen showroom moved in.

It must have been years and although I never knew you, I just wanted to say that I remember your tarmac scars and I still notice your bump in the road that makes the cars bounce on their way up the hill.

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