I’ll meet you at the water fountain, drops sparking in the light

Andrew, Robin, and I are going to take on the China Town Year of the Rooster Celebrations. I’ve never been to it in Vancouver, I’ve missed it due to varying stupid factors over the years. While looking this up, I found out that The Secret Machines are playing Richards on Richards on Tuesday. I very much would like to go, is there anyone else? Tickets are $13.

Leaves are coming back to the trees, the seasons are spinning visibly again. The clouds are blowing away to be replaced with sharp blue sky which cuts like a knife. I can see us together, us being you and me, any number of you, and me with my purple hair contrasting with whatever colour you turns out to have. I’m singing about Love and we look out to the ocean and see rippling waves broken by a sailboat with furled sheets. “The Vancouver way of sailing, using only the engine.” I can see us laughing quietly at some private joke born months ago. It’s a strange sensation, knowing you, holding you. I expect to be blinded by the sun off my glasses and finding you gone in that tiny blaze of light, scattered to ashes made of memory, because this is too good to be real. I meet you on the seawall and we grab eachother not into a hug, but a little moment of soft shoe before we finally take a moment to clasp bodies properly. A tiny tango of hello, a spark of amusing connection. I tell you that I don’t kiss and tell and we grin, it’s a conspiracy. In my pocket I’ve brought us jelly-beans and we eat them as we walk, comparing the unexpected flavours we’ve found in the day-glo colours.

It’s something to think about.