Nov 01, 2007 22:54
Nowhere but where you are is good
I rarely dream of you now. You slipped out of my life without any fuss like a quietly closed door that has magically shrunk like the ones in Alice in Wonderland. There was no warning but maybe I wilfully ignored the signs. I am convinced that you came back one night and locked the door to my unconscious and threw away the key just to spite me. My memories of you are fading - just like that. I forget now which stair it was that creaked on the way up to your room. When I sleepwalk up those stairs that end at the closed skylight I am lost. Maybe you hear me and turn off the light and pretend to be away. I have these conspiracy theories but no more dreams. The silence is cold. The missing gaps are painful. I feel stupid like a drunk man who has forgotten where he lives. My waking world is taking over my sleeping hours and reality is harder to fight than demons. The view outside your window is fading and I can’t recall the exact colour of your walls. The sharp angles of your face is blurring at the edges like the stubble you once tried to keep. Then suddenly the other night it came back.
And no one but you can make it right
I met you in another room in a different city where the windows had wooden blinds and the bed was narrow and hard. It might have been a hotel room in Japan. I looked at the gilt- edged mirror and saw our entwined reflection and smiled in triumph at the homecoming. But the reflection flickered and I realised that it wasn't me but some other woman . Your image dissolved like sugar in water. I didn't understand. But I was happy. It was a dream once.
Cos in my head the rhythm of your love
I wake up in my own room and feel both exhilarated and disappointed. I look around and everything is where it was except the bedroom window which is slightly ajar like the expectant mouth of a new lover. The room is cool but I feel warm. The aftertaste of a dream is like the stealing glow of a dram of malt whiskey. I draw the covers close and linger in the draughts of that sweet memory and softly turn on the player where Ian Curtis starts singing: ‘She’s lost Control’.
Plays endlessly like a perfect guitar riff
ramble