[uber filter]
May. 7th, 2003 12:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeIt's a Saturday night and I haven't seen these streets in quite some time. It's amazing how the city can still get under my skin. Settle insidiously just under the first layer, not so you can see it. But, enough to where I know it's resting there. Barely beneath the surface.
And as I guide my charge through tiny shortcuts and dim lit alleys, I realise that I'm moving without even thinking about it. There's a map printed behind my eyes and in my brain, I don't think I could be rid of it if I even tried. I could do this in my sleep, I tell him. I could do this blindfolded.
We reach our first destination, which is an apartment that has been passed down from bookstore employee to bookstore employee. It hasn't seen different hands in about seven years, I would reckon. And I've spent time surrounded by those walls under the temporary ownership of them all. It's strange to see it again, the familiar and unfamiliar. Disconcerting. I wobble a bit on the steps, as I've forgotten how steep the climb is.
There is a bar wedged between where our bookstore stood and the shitty New Orleans knock off that serves alcoholic slushes. I wrote a poem once about the patch of sidewalk in front of the New Orleans wannabe and how it stunk nauseatingly, even in the cold and still February mornings.
But, the bar we went to that Saturday night wasn't so bad. Just cramped. And with weak drinks. All the better that my first three were only a dollar each. They filled my cup to the brim and it sloshed over, sticky and golden in the stagelights, onto my fingers. I licked it away, smiling slightly at my old love. He's recently taking up the hobby of drinking, something which I find uncomfortable and unbecoming of him. It doesn't lessen the twinge I feel in my chest whenever I see his face, though. I don't think anything could rid me of that, no matter how much I wished it would.
Later and later and later again, I'm on the rooftop of the earlier mentioned apartment. The night has grown cold, but I'm huddled in a borrowed coat whose sleeves drape over my hands.
So many people from my past, it's as if I never left. And our gracious hostess voices this thought aloud. I grimace to myself and pull the borrowed coat closer around me, to block out the memories.
Their laughter rises over our heads to mingle with our cigarette smoke and it's too much temptation. I can't stay huddled and frowning for very long. It's not in my nature to be like that, especially not when I'm surrounded by people who I've loved for so long.
I smile and stretch my legs under the table, kicking the feet of the person who sits across from me. He catches my eye and the once private moment of me rising from my self induced shell is shared with another.
I miss all of you.
So much.
And as I guide my charge through tiny shortcuts and dim lit alleys, I realise that I'm moving without even thinking about it. There's a map printed behind my eyes and in my brain, I don't think I could be rid of it if I even tried. I could do this in my sleep, I tell him. I could do this blindfolded.
We reach our first destination, which is an apartment that has been passed down from bookstore employee to bookstore employee. It hasn't seen different hands in about seven years, I would reckon. And I've spent time surrounded by those walls under the temporary ownership of them all. It's strange to see it again, the familiar and unfamiliar. Disconcerting. I wobble a bit on the steps, as I've forgotten how steep the climb is.
There is a bar wedged between where our bookstore stood and the shitty New Orleans knock off that serves alcoholic slushes. I wrote a poem once about the patch of sidewalk in front of the New Orleans wannabe and how it stunk nauseatingly, even in the cold and still February mornings.
But, the bar we went to that Saturday night wasn't so bad. Just cramped. And with weak drinks. All the better that my first three were only a dollar each. They filled my cup to the brim and it sloshed over, sticky and golden in the stagelights, onto my fingers. I licked it away, smiling slightly at my old love. He's recently taking up the hobby of drinking, something which I find uncomfortable and unbecoming of him. It doesn't lessen the twinge I feel in my chest whenever I see his face, though. I don't think anything could rid me of that, no matter how much I wished it would.
Later and later and later again, I'm on the rooftop of the earlier mentioned apartment. The night has grown cold, but I'm huddled in a borrowed coat whose sleeves drape over my hands.
So many people from my past, it's as if I never left. And our gracious hostess voices this thought aloud. I grimace to myself and pull the borrowed coat closer around me, to block out the memories.
Their laughter rises over our heads to mingle with our cigarette smoke and it's too much temptation. I can't stay huddled and frowning for very long. It's not in my nature to be like that, especially not when I'm surrounded by people who I've loved for so long.
I smile and stretch my legs under the table, kicking the feet of the person who sits across from me. He catches my eye and the once private moment of me rising from my self induced shell is shared with another.
I miss all of you.
So much.
