Sunday, October 17, 2010

the start.

I thought about you about the empty parking lot.

Being close closed the gap. Holding you up holding me as the yellow static of a street light draws long shadows behind us. Our cheeks did not meet, but were my eyes closed? I think my mind ceased of all but you so the memory is sharp with softened edges.

I couldn't read what was in your eyes. An expectation or anticipation? A sorrow with earnest desire? A question hanging over our heads? The chorus repeated ad infinitum.

The night fill with the inky blackness, a deep darkness bleeding slowly and fully, and the cars rush by. Songs off Nebraska, pulling my jacket closer, wind slipping through thin, loosely knit wool, hair pulled back, leaning ever so slightly forward as I stride ahead. At some points, I cannot lose you like you are the green light at the end of the dock and at others, you bob like a buoy in the fogged distance.

We rode at night, the tails of our jackets whipping about and all is silence beyond the wind in our ears. The Woods too loud, too crowded with faces unfamiliar, as usual. I attempt to go within myself to a place occupied by my own moves (ha!) when channeling everyone that I miss into the frame. It will never be like Whisky Bar nights again. And that's when I feel older. Let's be honest though and admit that I can still bring it on the floor. Forever and always. Flashing lights, hitting potholes in the asphalt, knuckles cold from the air and we are closer to home.

Brothers and "Slow Show", back and forth bc I'm picking up what you're putting down.

I took some steps to say I did it. I am making it happen. I promise now.

I wish I was gripping a bottle of champagne by the neck, swigging it on the roof.

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