Just remember when you think you’re free
The crack inside your fucking heart is me
Sometimes I wonder what you did with the tickets. You know, those tickets you bought, for you and me, as a birthday present, for me. For that gig that you knew I wanted to go to; for that gig you had to know me quite well to know that I wanted to go to. That thoughtful gift. That thoughtful gift.
The date came and it went. And I wonder if the tickets stayed with you, unused. Or if they were sold. Or maybe you went. And maybe you took that girl you met on New Year’s Eve. I think maybe you did. You always were a cheapskate. Why waste money? Just don’t tell her they were bought for someone else and you’ve got the perfect Thursday night surprise, right?
Your confidant, your sympathiser, your heart-to-heart, your goodnight kiss.
Your lightning rod, your diversion, your love on a leash, your placeholder.
How fucking DARE you.
A hammock in a forest. And an elderly man smiles and smiles, pushing me gently back into gentle swinging and rubs homemade chilli paste on my eczema-ridden feet. And then he takes me by the foot and the hand and pulls me out and up and around and around by the foot and the hand. And a one and a two and an up, up, up I go, into the sky and moon and stars and nonsense like that. It was a strange dream but at least it wasn’t about you. I dreamt I met you. I was walking and you caught up with me and tapped me on the shoulder and smiled that smile and I thankfully woke up before you said, ‘Hey!’.
No one is ever convenient, to others or even to themselves.
So goodbye to you, my own, temporary inconvenience.