(no subject)
she's in my head, her shocking, pointy black boots, and the way she slams her way into the walls. there is no solitude in a heat such as this, we both swelter (i quietly, her loudly), we both drink the lukewarm water that drips from the tap. and i'm just sitting, waiting, patiently, needing an empty that doesn't hurt as much as this one. valentine calms me in the still morning hours of her house, we drink tea and talk about charming old buildings that go tumbling down and her bleu room, all weightless and hushed. but she is leaving soon, to cuba; my silent little persona will jam up again and there she will be, her lips drenched in furious cherries and a rattling tongue. do not touch that crema cake. do not swallow the things that do harm you. there is a frustration that digs in, i am not going to europe now, it is official. i am not even visiting england. sarah, i'm sorry, i can't get out of this. i wanted to so much and then yesterday i ate peach flavored fairy floss and the fibers electrocuted the back of my mouth and i realised; i can't. the wind refuses to fall behind me anymore.
the heat here is not humid, it is cracked and dry, and she sits on the ledge, clicking her heels and promising me nothing. (the nothing i want so badly, so constantly). and then i rejoice in the hilarity, of me sitting and fair skin burning at the bus stop, upon my lap is miano's encyclopedia of snow, between my fingers the snowflakes she touched.
when i wake up from this dream, my eyes will be wet. she will be dead, and you'll all forget. because forgetting is the best thing each of us can do. we forget that we see, that we hear, that we care, that others do.
i am holding on tightly, to my vertigo.