(no subject)
couldn't sleep last night and posted this to fb? eww. first attempt at something in.. ages.
I wonder what it would be like if you were able to hold someone and just memorize them. Tattoo their body wrapped around yours so you’ll always know exactly how you fit together. Or what life would be like if everybody had their own private theater that played endless streams of memories. Somewhere you could go to check the little details, like how long someone’s strides used to be; whether someone who was exactly 1.1 times your height had strides exactly 1.1 times yours as well. I suppose it would be alone, on those faded velvet seats, that you’d remember. You'd remember that these lanky boys you just threw your heart at were all legs, and that it always took you a step and a hop just to keep up with them.
And let’s say you want to remember how they breathed, and all the times that your two breaths were perfectly synched. Every single time-even the ones where you cheated and sped or slowed yours down to match theirs. And if it’s possible, you really want to remember all the times they traced their fingers up and down your side, palmed the curve of a hip and treated you like something 3.2 seconds away from shattering; a trembling mess as they draw a finger down along your spine; the brush of 18,000 stunted strands of stubble on your neck that always left you slightly lightheaded. What would become of the porn industry if you could relive every last stroke?
Because you want to remember what deodorant they used and how they smelled after a night out; and then you want to remember how they smelled after a night spent in. How they sometimes shared the covers and cocooned up with you, risking pins and needles to have you tucked into the crook of their arm.
You want to remember every stretch of skin, every detail of them so well that you can draw all the swirling arcs of their fingerprint by heart. Find the slope of each tiny, broken section and compute some fraction of their identity. You want to carefully go over everything you remember so that you can wrap a blanket around your shoulders like the warm arms of a lover. And after that, you can finally relearn how to have a good night’s sleep.
And even though they have long outgrown you, in these increasingly dingy theaters, you can stay and relive the first drunken kiss. You can re-watch them laugh that first time you looked over, and realized you were in love-over and over again. You can remember the way you clung together, breathing each other in after the first weekend apart. And until the neighbors start complaining about a smell, until the officials find you weeks later, you can be alone with your memories.
I wonder what it would be like if you were able to hold someone and just memorize them. Tattoo their body wrapped around yours so you’ll always know exactly how you fit together. Or what life would be like if everybody had their own private theater that played endless streams of memories. Somewhere you could go to check the little details, like how long someone’s strides used to be; whether someone who was exactly 1.1 times your height had strides exactly 1.1 times yours as well. I suppose it would be alone, on those faded velvet seats, that you’d remember. You'd remember that these lanky boys you just threw your heart at were all legs, and that it always took you a step and a hop just to keep up with them.
And let’s say you want to remember how they breathed, and all the times that your two breaths were perfectly synched. Every single time-even the ones where you cheated and sped or slowed yours down to match theirs. And if it’s possible, you really want to remember all the times they traced their fingers up and down your side, palmed the curve of a hip and treated you like something 3.2 seconds away from shattering; a trembling mess as they draw a finger down along your spine; the brush of 18,000 stunted strands of stubble on your neck that always left you slightly lightheaded. What would become of the porn industry if you could relive every last stroke?
Because you want to remember what deodorant they used and how they smelled after a night out; and then you want to remember how they smelled after a night spent in. How they sometimes shared the covers and cocooned up with you, risking pins and needles to have you tucked into the crook of their arm.
You want to remember every stretch of skin, every detail of them so well that you can draw all the swirling arcs of their fingerprint by heart. Find the slope of each tiny, broken section and compute some fraction of their identity. You want to carefully go over everything you remember so that you can wrap a blanket around your shoulders like the warm arms of a lover. And after that, you can finally relearn how to have a good night’s sleep.
And even though they have long outgrown you, in these increasingly dingy theaters, you can stay and relive the first drunken kiss. You can re-watch them laugh that first time you looked over, and realized you were in love-over and over again. You can remember the way you clung together, breathing each other in after the first weekend apart. And until the neighbors start complaining about a smell, until the officials find you weeks later, you can be alone with your memories.