Something About Stones

Do you remember what stones feels like? Every little bit of rock always seems to have some distinct pattern, messages in some unknown but familiar tongue.

I know the video to college boy, by Indochine, pretty well. So when I listen to the song I close my eyes and let the video play in head head. Today however I kept flexing my finger for some reason and the feel of everything [stone related] I touched came flooding back to me.

The walls of my room are almost smooth. I run my hands over them and I can almost see and hear the mason spreading the cement out. Wet cement which I dream I can smell immediately. While I bring in the paper I realize the course,irregular slabs beneath my bare feet are almost wet. Like someone painted the ground with dew and sliced the water with the worlds sharpest Katana. I imaging it would feel like knife on hot, melted butter.

The bumpy,well worn and decaying stone pavement on the way to college seems to embrace it decline with happy burst of grass. I’ve looked at those pavement for so long that I’m certain that if I walked on it barefoot I’d know exactly how each slab feels. It’s like the texture has seeped up through my shoes and has left a un-ageing memory on my soles.

In front of the college canteen where my friends and I sit before the sun rises in earnest and the air is cool there’s rows of stone seats that are among the amazing stones I can remember. The air is cool and clam, not a sound is made. Here I like to run my fingers over the stone at our usual spot. I feel like I am a titan running my hands through mountains.

Today I discovered that the stone in front of the canteen have cousins in the PG block. They too are under black trees who remind everyone to quite down and listen to the fresh silence.

All I have to do is bring my fingers together and the mountains that mark these stone come rushing back like memories that refuse to let themselves be forgotten.

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