Part of me is hoping you’re thinking of me when you’re lying in the middle of heaven. It’s the part of me that thinks of you in terms of precious lost cities half buried in sand, an archeologists wet dream, someone to explore with eyes wide with wonder and conversations in the kitchen. Here I think a line about apple-pie and hamlet which reminds me your flatmate reads this so instead of typing it, I suppress the urge to wave. The look on your face when you were looking at the ocean, that’s what I see. Half open eyes and a look of almost surprised contentment. The outside world, so beautiful and something rarely visited. The impression you gave, “I like you too much, I’m so sorry.”
A vast pool, you said, of clear blue. Shallow from one end of the bay to the other, it never goes past far past your knees.
It sounds like the sky.
The part of me that lets my fear die, it knows better. It sings to me that you leave to forget this place and possibly the people in it. Lying in such clear water, I know that I would let the architecture of Vancouver drown underneath me like an unwanted cat in a bag. I would close my eyes and listen for new people to fill my life with and then I would find them. You are unlikely to bring me a picture, unlikely to stand at the side of the velvet water and focus a camera, my name the plane of your chosen angle.
This won’t stop me writing you. I still want to illuminate your life like manuscripted letters. Until there is a cease and desist, I will try to convey what you seem to me, faded love or no. Nature or nurture, I look up to your window when I pass and I’m always sorry when the light is off. I blew you a kiss before you left, thinking of the glitter when we sat at the top of a dry water fountain that looked like a stepped pyramid and talked about lock-picks.
Happiness is one of those permeable things. I was happy then, though I didn’t know what I was doing or what was going on. I didn’t care. It’s been on my mind lately, how different I was this time last year, how my life was more important to me. Thoughts preying like a fever on my loneliness. It never used to be something I would consider. Time passes. Either it happens or it does now. All I carry with me is in me, a basic understanding that escapes every Prometheus moment of victory I embrace. Thrown from the mountain, bones were broken and I’m not sure they’re setting. I feel I’ve lost my liberty.
Today was a write off. Seems I’ve caught up on all the sleep I’ve lately missed, but that doesn’t help me find employment. This hunt is beginning to fortify my thoughts of being a write-off.