Fireworks

I sit in a dark room shaded by a lamp and dampened by my drooping eyes.

Outside there's a blast. In the beginning I always think it's a tyre exploding or a shot fired.

Fortunately, I'm always pleasantly surprised.

Fireworks.

My God how I used to love them.

Sometimes I still do, providing I feel light enough. And not nearly enough cynical.

Anyway, this time it's different.

I hear the breaking, the cracking, the cackling of these artificial stars but I cannot see them.

Framed in glass, six squares of panes and not one view of them.

How strange.

I found myself trying, straining, pulling my neck, turning my head, desperately trying to locate the fiery journey but to no avail.

Then I find I'm just bored.

So what if I don't get to see the fireworks.

I've seen them many times before. 

But there's something awkward with not seeing them, or not being interested in seeing them at least. It's not what should happen - I should be running outside trying to get a glimpse (just like when it snowed and everyone at Trinity went barging out and had really very forced snow fights just to say they had a snow fight and put the pictures online) not sitting in here waiting for Plato to become interesting.

The sound crescendoes. Ah. Ah. It's almost annoying.

I want my childhood back.