I don't like to talk about you anymore...
...for it fills me with dread that knots my stomach and tightens my muscles. I was so happy, living with you. Now it is only a memory: tainted nostalgia, a heart that aches.
Your tolerance, years long, of all of my bad habits. Your chastising tone. Your critical voice. It resonates within me. I cannot but listen. I have failed you, in more ways than I can count, in more ways than I could know. I deleted you from my contacts list so that I would not call you on mornings like this. I can still dial the number of 2230 from memory. My fingers betray me and will not forget it. I want to drink tea and sit on the back porch as you lounge in the hammock. Homemade limeade.
This morning is grey and tragic. I run from it with vice, bury myself in another cocktail. It only works for a few short hours. I wish I could Eternal Sunshine you from my mind. Even the golden memories are full of shards.
1817 is changed, repainted, elegant and fake. It lacks a certain home-feel it used to have. I walked around it on wet grass in the late of the night with a new friend, told them how it used to look. The colors it used to be. What parts of it I built. What bits of it I remember, from red shag carpet to hand-made cabinets. I cried alone in the dark, looking through the lighted windows. Picking handfulls of daffodils. They dug out the bulbs. Threw them away. Into that dumpster of my memories.
Wearing your clothes, smudged with oil paints. A permanence that I once wished I could have with you. I wish I could make Hami three dinners again, only to feed him on torn shreds of baguette and imported cheese.
Matt Bradford remembers me with your green hair. "When I last saw you, your hair was green," he said, and I laughed, and said, oh yes, how that was so. M&M skirt. LaRiche in pots. Karma records. Running between raindrops. Driving Little Richie. Towel spread on the bathroom floor. Ammonia burning my eyes as I worked dye through your hair. Belle and Sebastian. Hair stoplight lime green. In pigtails, parted down the middle, tucked into little nubs.
My heart pours bad poetry when I think of you.
Your tolerance, years long, of all of my bad habits. Your chastising tone. Your critical voice. It resonates within me. I cannot but listen. I have failed you, in more ways than I can count, in more ways than I could know. I deleted you from my contacts list so that I would not call you on mornings like this. I can still dial the number of 2230 from memory. My fingers betray me and will not forget it. I want to drink tea and sit on the back porch as you lounge in the hammock. Homemade limeade.
This morning is grey and tragic. I run from it with vice, bury myself in another cocktail. It only works for a few short hours. I wish I could Eternal Sunshine you from my mind. Even the golden memories are full of shards.
1817 is changed, repainted, elegant and fake. It lacks a certain home-feel it used to have. I walked around it on wet grass in the late of the night with a new friend, told them how it used to look. The colors it used to be. What parts of it I built. What bits of it I remember, from red shag carpet to hand-made cabinets. I cried alone in the dark, looking through the lighted windows. Picking handfulls of daffodils. They dug out the bulbs. Threw them away. Into that dumpster of my memories.
Wearing your clothes, smudged with oil paints. A permanence that I once wished I could have with you. I wish I could make Hami three dinners again, only to feed him on torn shreds of baguette and imported cheese.
Matt Bradford remembers me with your green hair. "When I last saw you, your hair was green," he said, and I laughed, and said, oh yes, how that was so. M&M skirt. LaRiche in pots. Karma records. Running between raindrops. Driving Little Richie. Towel spread on the bathroom floor. Ammonia burning my eyes as I worked dye through your hair. Belle and Sebastian. Hair stoplight lime green. In pigtails, parted down the middle, tucked into little nubs.
My heart pours bad poetry when I think of you.
posted by Kari Stevenson @ 7:37 AM
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