Thursday, 1 March 2012

Running from my last goodbye.

And suddenly it rushed my mind
I couldn't hold it as it moved so high
And I never looked back with the same eyes again

Suddenly I lost my voice
A new second when I had that chance
I saw my eyes
They were filling up with regret
And suddenly a paradise
Sees me running from my last goodbye
I saw my eyes telling you a story again

So I must have been running for miles
Out of my mind
But I never got tired
I must have been wired

And if I ever see her outside
With a letter from home
Well I’m never gonna go
Never gonna go home
He didn't read far enough to catch the parts where I wrote 'without history and 'without rules' because rage blinded him to my words and despair held him back from being able to absorb much of what I spoke of, save for my own death. He won't think about that. Ever.

Just like I don't think about his.


Something tells me heaven looks less like my garage and more like Coney Island but don't tell him that, he'll take it as a compliment and rule with his ego instead of his head. There's enough ego around here to offset the empathy and it leaves us dizzy and raw.

So I don't think I'm going to play out the conversations of yesterday. I just grew fresh skin over my open wounds and my heart is freshly sutured, threads caught and ripped by the sharpest teeth, a gentle pat on the back delivered as I am pushed back into the clouds at the top of the cliff and proclaimed 'good as ever' but never 'good as new'.

We had rules. I had to lie about my name and my age and by the time we graduated from gritty midway caravans and endless Ferris wheel rides to the full-on circus and subsequent freak show we were both so used to the rules that we fell into them instantly and easily, though they were no longer required. It's funny how that happens. You get so used to something it becomes as automatic as taking a breath, or stealing a heart.


He didn't like the rules but they worked in place of absolute freedom. Some is better than all. All is better than none.

And then Lochlan said a whole bunch of other stuff in a rush and I wound up holding my hand out for the vodka he brought outside but never opened. He struggled to get the cap off with one good hand and then he gave it to me, taking accountability instead of a drink, himself. I chose the drink just to soften the surprise.

And just like that I blink and we enter the next phase of adulthood, the one in which all the words are out now and we're not angry at each other at all.

I took a big huge gulp and then another and was planning on continuing until it was gone but he grabbed it back and said he didn't want us to have this conversation inebriated. Too late, it's burning me from the inside out. No, not the alcohol, the words. I remember everything he said and now I know for sure, he's absolutely never ever wrong.

Lesson learned. Won't make that mistake again.