Sunday, March 11, 2007
under the iron bridge
This is not fact. It isn't even fiction. But it's all true...every word.
There was no bridge; I'm being needlessly poetical. There was three girls, two boys. Awkward silence. Cheap drinks. Being nudged with a glass by a drunk man. A really awful film (The Number 23...if you're interested).
Linking whilst we walked. Not knowing what to do with my other arm. That same perfume. That same hairstyle. That same bag. That same messy room. Even the house smelt the same. But we're older. Everyone's older. Wiser. Nicer. Less damaged. And yet the crook of your arm is still the same shape. Your hair smells the same. We both act the same.
When I'm scared I go for your hand. When I'm upset...you go for mine. On the bus. The soundtrack of Amélie. Audrey Tautou skims stones on the Canal St Martin and we are in comfortable silence.
All this, to anyone else, might seem perfectly innocent. Maybe there's a hint of something past; a shadow. A realization that maybe things will never be the same. That by the past we are bound. Of course, I could have just been drunk. You could have just been drunk. But there's also that hope. That shadow.
There was no bridge; I'm being needlessly poetical. There was three girls, two boys. Awkward silence. Cheap drinks. Being nudged with a glass by a drunk man. A really awful film (The Number 23...if you're interested).
Linking whilst we walked. Not knowing what to do with my other arm. That same perfume. That same hairstyle. That same bag. That same messy room. Even the house smelt the same. But we're older. Everyone's older. Wiser. Nicer. Less damaged. And yet the crook of your arm is still the same shape. Your hair smells the same. We both act the same.
When I'm scared I go for your hand. When I'm upset...you go for mine. On the bus. The soundtrack of Amélie. Audrey Tautou skims stones on the Canal St Martin and we are in comfortable silence.
All this, to anyone else, might seem perfectly innocent. Maybe there's a hint of something past; a shadow. A realization that maybe things will never be the same. That by the past we are bound. Of course, I could have just been drunk. You could have just been drunk. But there's also that hope. That shadow.
# posted by Ally : 12:20 AM
