6pm. There is a technicolour blaze of dying sunlight, its enveloping folds soaked by the geometry and inflexibility of the HDB blocks. There you are, a lost image in the orange light – forbidding and a foreboding. I seek the physicality of touch, but inherent in it is the finality of repudiation. I can only fabricate a mental reality devoid of the physicality I crave. It is much like the absent sky, so bathed in orange, but yet so vacant.
Today it didn’t rain.