time staggers on

I’m standing at a cross walk waiting for the light to turn green. A double-decker bus races past. I catch my reflection in the window.

How has it been four years.

I look taller.

Thinner.

Happier.

Less sad eyes.

Yet more reasons to be sad. How does that work?

The light turns green. I walk quickly into the underground. The dust of the day hits my face, I slide my card across the sensor, as though I’ve done this a thousand times. Maybe that’s why people always ask me for directions – I look like I know where I’m headed.

I hop on the train after descending the 78 steps to the platform. My stop comes quickly and before I know it I’m climbing the steps back up to the light.

She’s waiting for me at the cafe. If we were to press rewind, it would have been the other way around. She is early. This makes me smile.

Bear hugs are exchanged.

Five minutes into our walk to the pub, she exclaims, “It doesn’t feel like any time has passed!”

I know.

Yet, it has.

Not in her or I’s connection, but in that reflection I saw in the bus window.

It showcases itself in the tiny details.

I can keep my eyes happy, even if I’m sad, as my heart itself knows happiness. This has only come through the comfort of being truly loved.

I know I’m worth it, and I didn’t know this before.

I know it’s not my fault for things beyond my control.

And in the million other different ways he changed me.

***

Today you learned?

tired and wired, we ruin too easy

Is it November yet? Specifically mid-to-late November?

No. Damn.

Okay, guess I’ll make another button bouquet to pass the time away, while I’m waiting for my canvas to dry and the pie to cool.

I figure by the time this year is up, between work and keeping up with social activities, I will have crafted myself into oblivion to keep my mind off of the fact that everything I want is 5000km in the opposite direction. On the plus side, our house will not be lacking in decoration. Stayed tuned. Next week I’ll show you the pillow case I’m knitting.

Note: This is not the one I made. I lost my usb cord…but it’s similar.

it was perfect till…he came along and wrecked it

Her: “{insert my full name}!”

Me: “What?”

Her: “I can’t believe you just said that. When did this happen?”

Me: “Nothing happened, just thoughts, lofty thoughts…you know.”

Her: “Oh, I do…they are dangerous.”

Me: “Don’t tell anyone, but check your email.”

(waits)

Her: *shrieks into phone* “Wow. You’ve changed. What happened to the plan?”

Me: “I’m in it currently…the end results may have shifted, to an earlier date, tis all.”

Her: “I love it. You never talk like this.”

Me: “Hey, we’re both happy at the same time. That never happens.”

Her: “I know.”

Me: “Makes you nervous doesn’t?”

Her: “Yes.”

Me: “But excited nervous. Feels like we’re a long way from the bridge doesn’t?”

Her: “It does.”

Me: “I still smell the vinegar and taste the salt though.”

***

I lick my lips in anticipation every time I cross water. Suspended, rolling along the pavement, the vibrations from the car tires hitting the grooves and the sound pumping out of the stereo….I like how the hills are lined with white houses, and multi coloured roofs like woven squares on a perfectly sewn quilt.

I think if I can see the water, ride over bridges and see the sun descend behind the hill, I’ll always have a bit of home with me.

And that’ll tie me over till you’re here.

Just.

absence

It does make the heart grow fonder.

I believe I have a better relationship with my family because of it.

So I’ll stay here, and you be there and we’ll meet in middle.

In the ether, but in the corner especially reserved.

With paper tablecloths and paint brush utensils.

You’ll catch all my tangents.

And if you need me…

Four handclaps and a fist shake, will be signal enough.

i’ll write you a postcard, i’ll send you the news…from the house down the road

why is it so hard sometimes to let people in?

do you think we ever really do? fully?

is it bad if we don’t?

suppose its our own loss if we don’t…

but i don’t think you can ever really do that. perhaps i’m too jaded for my age. or perhaps i like that layer of emotional protection. like SPF 55 for the soul.

funny how the strength goes higher with age…to cover up scars of the past.

i’m not sure where this is going. this is what happens when i listen to Stars late at night when its raining.

I94

in the painted woods
is where i planted sunflowers
for you.

i waited
but the seasons
could not.

Driving through Minnesota and North Dakota I saw fields full of dead sunflowers.

Surprisingly it was the most peaceful thing I’ve seen on the trip thus far.

ooh, i’ll be the one to break my heart, i’ll be the one to hold the gun

I don’t really care for Feist so much.

But I do like this song.

Because sometimes I feel it all too.

And this evening I found an object I thought was long lost. And it just made my freakin’ month. Thumbs licked to you, G.

Thumbs. I miss you.

xo

and he died in the arms of his love

This song always gives me a little peace.

I’m not sure if I believe in heaven, but I believe in the hope of, something.

and all of that time you thought i was sad, i was just trying to remember your name

I love this song more than words can say.

Its 2005. I am lying defeated on my futon staring at my ceiling. Its also winter, and I remember my eyelashes freezing when stepping outside in the cold. Stars, Set Yourself on Fire was played so much I had to burn multiple copies.

Sometimes, I believe it plays in the back of my dreams.

It never ceases to amaze me how music, much like smell, can transport you immediately to another time. I hope it is always like that. Even if the memory hurts. Its inevitable that we change from the first listen, to the next, especially if the time lapsed is years, so its almost like each song, or album, is a facet of yourself. And when you listen again, sometimes you’re listening to the music, but sometimes you’re transported completely and well, that’s pretty grand when you think about it.

I’m avoiding sleep, much like work at the moment, because I keep having the same nightmare where my noise bleeds profusely. Methinks this cannot be good for business. Both the dream, and the insomnia.