Staring out across the frozen landscape, I can feel the snow in my bones and the kind of ache which can only be caused by the cold. My lips tingle against the frigid air as they close around my cigarette and I think about how he likes it when I kiss him with my tongue. I could take it or leave it but it makes me melt when he moans and so you give what you have and take the rest with you, hoping the memories of it later will curl around you for comfort in your loneliest hour.
What time does to you there is no way to predict. I watch the young attempt to sell themselves and I remember being young once but completely unaware of what it cost me to sell myself the same way. It’s tough to find yourself when your self is a commodity. What’s being in love when you could be devastated. What’s commitment when you could get high and soar like a soft-winged bird away on a perfect smooth wind, up and up into the atmosphere where nothing can hurt you, nothing can cause you any pain.
Blowing smoke into the center of the blind white sun, I feel the weight of the many losses I have known since I was a kid. I feel the ghost of you tight around me like gray invisible silence. The kind which seeps inside like fingers reaching right through the void, curling around the cage in my chest. Pulling my heart open as if the way I once loved you could make the spring surface months before it’s due.
But time is bitter on my tongue this afternoon. I can’t get high the way I used to, I can’t get myself low enough either. What they never tell you is there’ll be a lump in your throat for years and years. What they cannot seem to understand is the way your stomach sours and never heals. That the evening light will burn slow inside of you. It will not settle into night; it will not blossom into dawn. Evening like longing becomes a warmth and a chill that never seems to let you go.