Tuesday, September 21, 2010

An evening filled with drizzle

Come now, come along with me and we will walk the lanes we walked when we were small, the leaves under our feet, and everything is russet as the best of days have faded and a chill is descending that we feel but ignore, warm inside with oats and hot coffee.

Come now, leave behind your burdens, they are nothing that will not wait, hill upon hill, come with me and we'll feel the cold sand beneath our toes, the water is ice on our bodies but we are laughing, drunk on pear cider and the last of the youth we still feel move within us.

Do you remember, we kissed on a misty night in a wide open park? Do you remember you held my hand and told me it was the warmest thing in the whole of that chilled world? Now if he says my name, you'll tell him you do not know it, maybe he's someone I used to know but now, well, memories fade and become lies, stories of how we wish we had lived and maybe we did, because now the day is done, the way we wanted it to be is what we are left with, and wishes are for the future not the past--that is ours for the rest of our time to do with what we want and who can say different? We share no secrets. We did nothing we cannot deny, except for love. I cannot say I didn't love you; I never will. But loving you is whatever I want it to be, and I do not have to believe you ever loved me.

Come with me, come along and we can laugh in the sweatfilled night, how ridiculous we are to be these old, clumsy bodies, still throbbing with desires we cannot name, still fired up, still alive despite the growing death our lives daily become. Come and drink vodka lime until you believe you were her and I was him, whoever they were, until you believe in me and I believe that time is gone and not a grave.

I remember an evening filled with drizzle, out the back of my dad's, looking out over the land I love, over to Hayle, huddled in the face of a storm to come. I am smoking a cigarette and there is nothing in my mind, I am at peace only thinking that soon I will be leaving, and I have always been leaving home, never at rest, always alone. I remember late night in a taxi, unsure where I am, and there is the palace, the arch, the park and here is my home, my small place in a big city, my head is spinning, a joint, too drunk to fuck or even think of the morning, the onrushing dawn, but I am not sick, I was born unwell, waiting always for time to pass until I can be somewhere else, and for a moment, I do not know whether I have arrived or I am out there somewhere, still trying to find the way, wait, maybe the next on the right, but then I am sleeping.

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