It would be nice if every stone in the city didn’t bring with a whiff of a conversation, etched into my mind like a plaque. Here on this date, I lost my mind to a love this place couldn’t hold. I wanted to be enough to pull you back here, by invisible string. Do I waft into your mind too, on lazy summer afternoons? Do you feel a remnant tingle in your spine at the thought of one more caress? I wish I could convey the weight of my heart that contains itself in the words, ‘I miss you’.
I went to my cousin’s wedding on the weekend, and although it was the first wedding I’ve been to, it was kind of perfect. It made me believe in love again. She gave a wonderful speech, I think she was slightly tipsy, in their backyard draped with fairy lights in front of the house he had built for her. She stopped half way through and stood back from him, and said, “I mean just look at him!” Her voice rose and I could hear the happiness and the near awestruck disbelief. That she had found her one, and there was no doubt in the world, for either of them. He said he thought he was getting the better part of the deal, that he was the luckiest man in the world. And it made me hopeful that maybe I’ll meet my guy when I’m 28 and still single and he’ll be Scottish and built like a Highlander and will mend my house and my heart and will love me til death do us part and all those silly notions of love that sometimes jump off the screens we watch and play themselves out in real life. Maybe one day.
I want to be close to you
so I can see
the holes in your shirt
the holes in your skin
the holes in your heart
I think if I could
I would exhale a whale
And deflate all the air in my lungs
All the krill and the salt
And the imaginably big lot
Of whale inside of my stomach.
It would be free to roam swimmingly
And go forth so willingly
To live it’s life in the sea
And I would not mourn
Though it’s presence has gone
The one spark of life in my body
rum on the belly
flowers in the table
listen for a week
while I tell you a fable
of long forgotten dreams
and worlds turned right-side up
was this ever the imagined
place of lazy summer classrooms
and plastic lemon cups
time was light as air
never to close in
on dreams the size of acorn trees
and hearts that matched that grin
age dwindles, lines mingle
upon a well worn face
and in a summer too hot to bear
sometimes you remember
the freedom bursting from your touch
that one carefree December
Drunk is not a state of being I indulge in much anymore.
Intoxication doesn’t hold it’s intoxicating thrill in the scent of an unopened bottle of wine anymore.
I want independence. Fiercely I reject the clinginess of a wet t-shirt and stringy cheese, of cheesy love. And I want the snugness of an old t-shirt and the warm fuzziness of slippers that mould to your feet. I want a body to mould to mine.
I need to stop looking for intimacy in the rough fingers of boys with curled up smiles and sideways glances.
I need to stop scrolling through endless smiles of buried ghosts and stomach punching romance.
I wonder why there are so many lonely people lying in their beds, dreaming of the same thing, and willing the universe to bestow just one person made only for them.
I can’t understand love from behind a screen.
I’m lonely, I’d like to do what lonely people do and go out and find a random boy to suspend my loneliness for a little while, and kiss him under the stars, so I can count all the things that mean nothing in this infinite universe.
I caught a glimpse of pure greed in the eyes of a short stocky man today. I saw into the empty depths of his soul and it terrified me. I had a flashback of an ancient fairytale of caves, and infinite gold and men with beards and wicked smiles. He reminded me of a goblin, an inhuman creature who lusted after wealth over everything else. It wasn’t what money could do, it was simply the acquisition of more and more money. It made me feel an uncomfortable churning in the pit of my stomach, for all that can corrupt in man, and how greed can corrode away at a person’s goodness.
You know what terrifies me? Major things in my life that I have no control over. Something happening to my body that I can’t stop, like cancer or getting pregnant. The very likely possibility I won’t be able to get a job when I finish uni. Getting old, and feeling bitter and regretful, like the heavy hearts of the lonely people in the books I read. I fear the things that are larger than any decision I can make, have a greater power over my life than my own will. I desperately dread the thought of these things because I know the hand of fate swoops indiscriminately and swiftly, and I can’t outrun it, no matter how much I try.
I want to soar over the apexes of flowing descriptions and feel the knife wrenching stab of a staccato reveal. I want to delve deep into the minds of beings that live between the pages, understand the world through the eyes of a creation. I want to read all the books that were ever written and soak up the entirety of the human condition, devour every single word penned by man.
Things I miss:
Counting the pores in your skin, having the very tip of my nose kissed, you catching my tear with a single fingertip, begging you not to leave. Having your arms around me as I fall asleep, making you giggle at the smallest touch on your skin, because you’re way too ticklish. looking into your beautiful green eyes and feeling pure bliss, we are locked together, intertwined and perfect. You are perfect. You are mine. Three words remain stuck in my throat, as I lay so close to you. I can’t tell you I love you, but I do.
In Rome I did a walking tour at night and after it had finished, and I’d made my way through the best tartufo ice cream in town, I caught a taxi home. The taxi driver asked me where I was from, and I said Australia, to which he exclaimed, ‘Ahhh, Wollongong!’ in a thick Italian accent. I gave him directions and he drove through the ancient roads as I craned my head against the glass, eagerly drinking in the city as it flashed by me. Without warning, the Colosseum was suddenly right in front of us, and I’ll never forget the feeling when I first saw it, peering out of the small taxi, a mixed sense of utter wonder, excitement, and awe at this massive structure that had only existed in pictures and on film until that very moment. I don’t think the taxi driver knew that in those few seconds as we were driving past, I was experiencing a turmoil of inner happiness. Later as I was wandering the streets, I saw a street vendor who was selling pictures, and there was a still from a 1950s movie with a girl on the back of a vespa, clinging to the rider. She had the same expression of glee and pure joy on her face, and the picture seemed to be reflecting my own feeling as I had travelled past.
Maybe I’ll just write and write and write. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do, you know. You’re just transferring the mess in your brain to a mess on paper, and sometimes it comes out clean and pure and so so true, that you wonder how a thought can form so beautifully, if no one is there to record it. So I’ll write, because it’s easy, and because I love it, and because I’m searching for that elusive revelation that comes sometimes from having the mess in your head turn into something beautiful in ink.