witty-remark's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - The problem with taking you to all of my favourite places is that you embedded yourself into the cracks, and openings. You wound yourself around the branches of the trees. You hid yourself in the knots of the wood of the docks. You crept beneath the grains of sand. And in between the empty spaces of everything intangible you couldn’t bore into, you hung a memory. Floating in mid air like a hummingbird. If your existence wasn’t haunting me, between each step, its absence was. But the bench is mine. The tawny spread of sand belongs to me. The horizon disappears when I blink. If I’m not looking at it, it doesn’t exist because it holds no loyalty to you. The water and its surface debris. The mosquitos that dance across the glossy top. The weeds spiralling around the steel anchors. Mine. I reclaim these spaces. I extract you like a splinter, the rush and relief of a pain that feels good and necessary and familiar. I carry heartbreak the same as when I was 16. But now I’m older than all of the musicians who wrote the songs that rendered that feeling. They’ve outgrown me; you’re growing out of me. 7:25 p.m. - Wednesday, May. 12, 2021 |
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