Glass Canvas
My city of stars is painted in a glass canvas. It has tungsten yellow light scattered with blood red glitter and snow white dust. This city of stars that I have fallen in love with, is blanketed by a cloud of smog and in every alley is a trail of dust that I have left untouched. Behind pale green shutters, two hearts beat soundly and their stomach grumbles louder than their thoughts. From hot, boiling oil, rise puffy doughnuts alongside the huffs let out by a woman who has as many wrinkles as my age. Along the streets, my Gods are all carved in stones by hands I have never seen and are covered by the flowers that my mum grows. The roads that my father held my hand and walked me through when I was 4 are now just streets that I brace through with hands deep in my pockets. The heart of my city of stars has corners filled with tea shops run by hands: some covered in wrinkles and folds and some smooth like butter churned a day before. My city of star...