Days on repeat

November 10, 2014 § Leave a comment


fm

“Why can’t we give ourselves, one more chance?’ – Under pressure –¬†Queen¬†

She shifts awkwardly in her seat and pulls the cuffs of her shirt to over her palms. With that, we slip back into it. A line enters my head and leaves my mouth to a laugh. When it hits my ears it’s the first time I heard it because I’m back with her. I don’t have to filter the thoughts any more. I don’t have to sort and clean and disregard that which might carry with it any perception of social awkwardness, spite of viciousness. I know that it will received exactly as it’s meant. I know her to the bones and she knows me the same. Laughter just rolls out like colour all around us. I start to see the world again. It all comes rolling back into me, the colours the heat the warm glow of a scene like this. This isn’t romance, it’s not sex. It’s friendship. It’s the people you strive to see. The people who to speak too is like breathing fresh air. It’s to plug back into to feeling young. You go from delicate and fragile and numb into that teenager at the peak of the ups and downs that dominate that period. It’s easy, you know, when life’s like this. I had to be there. I had to see her. If I had had to beg, steal or borrow just to be there I would have a thousand times over just to sit across from her. She’s like cleaning the soul. Validation in all this confusion. She smiles and it sings and hum low in my blood. In the tight veins. It’s warm in the cold wind chill of November. She is salvation and companionship and the slow burn and on the vicious moments. They can take a back seat.

I’ve been callous before with my trust. Slow trusting and bitten and shy and shier and lost and hurt and drunk and drunker and felt myself slump into a numb monotonous depression of a life on repeat. But there’s no gamble here. It’s for my friends. If I can’t have love, if I can’t trust myself enough to invest myself in someone else through fear of letting that my darkside rip, then it’s all for them. I’m all for them.

I step back from that paragraph. I think about it. I start to question my bravery. I start to question myself and briefly consider myself a coward for not being willing to put it on the line. But fuck that. It’s cavalier and it cost me in the past. It cost me these stupid fucking scars I got when I let myself really go one night. Didn’t help. Left thigh, seven inches tall three millilitres wide sat side by side until I shamble off this mortal coil. Didn’t help. It wasn’t big and it was far from clever. I didn’t find the release I wanted, I just felt a shameful bloody mess when I came round. It didn’t help. She helps. They help. My friends. Friends are like lover without risk. Pick wisely. Stay in love.

Where Am I?

You are currently viewing the archives for November, 2014 at No Longer an Astronaut..

%d bloggers like this: