Every ad I see for The National’s new album twists my arm to level me with May 2010. Forcing the face of an animal into what it did wrong, what it continues to do wrong. I said YOU and you were someone that was with ME and I dragged my fingers through your hair the same way you dragged out your vowel sounds. I would like to live through the bus rides home from the airport everyday listening to Afraid Of Everyone, I would like to live through those nights making late-night coffees for late-night flights and late-night faces with better places to go than I ever did. Again. I would like to live through these sad place-cards for my life again.
(I still don’t have the drugs to sort it out)
The autumn here is bold and bitter, my breath has a body to it. I spill a mess of synonyms for my chilled features. And I got sick, I stayed up late eating jalapenos to aid my sinuses but it just left my mouth feeling as fevered as the rest of me. There is a lot of me to feel fevered. I push my face against the glass of my borrowed-bedroom window and marvel at the stain my cheek leaves. I was littler once, I left a smaller mark once.
I vividly remember climbing beneath hopeless duvets with you, clambering at your little body, finding warm places to rest wind-bitten fingertips on. It doesn’t matter so much that you didn’t write it down, like me, that you don’t remember anything. Autumn in Wellington feels so full of prospects, every year, for me, because of you. The smell of the city reminds me of Central Park, your bent knees, my crooked heart.
(Your voice is swallowing my soul)