"As to pretty girls who went past, from the day on which I had first known that their cheeks can be kissed. I had become curious about their souls. And the universe appeared to me more interesting."
~ Proust, 'Within A Budding Grove'
Twenty Three.
Optimistic.
Pocket-sized.
Transitioning from female to male.
Sydney, Australia.

Presenting The "Original" Whimsy Personal Post. Subculture Apparel Aesthetic Appreciation. Perennial Sensibility. The Occasional GPOY. Illustration/Animation and all that jazz.

January 25

12:07PM

Dear Mini Street Sweeper Driver,

I first noticed you as I crept to a stop at the intersection of Burwood Rd/Hume Highway, while driving home from a friends’ place at 2am this morning.

As you drove past me, I have never witnessed a man sobbing harder than you did today. The tears streamed down your face, your shoulders shook up and down violently and then swiftly, you buried your face into your arms, the arms and hands that gripped onto the steering wheel so tightly, of the Street Sweeper.

The glowing red light was humming, burning brightly as I craned my head towards the windshield to see if you were still nearby.

GREEN LIGHT.

I swung my car into the turning lane and turned onto the road that you were gently rocking down. You were no where in sight.

I write this today, after waking up with an uncomfortable feeling, in the depths of my stomach.

That I can’t help but feel a little worried about how you’re doing, if things are better or not for you.

Quite concerned,

Julian V.


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