Friday, April 10, 2009

car parks

maybe its the wind that bothers me the most. the wind that sings of when we knew each other and when we fought to keep our heads afloat.
i've thought that the wind could purify all these sordid tresses and messes of emotions in this attic, or cellar. break all the old wine bottles and make for us a blood river in the wood. i've sat outside for years in the cold, wondering where the breeze has blown you to, and what i would say to the wind if it stopped for a moment to listen to my quarrel with it. how odd, that i could think that i may address the wind.

in warm and clammy silence i damply whisper close to you the softest of things, i want to i want to

and then i thought that if i could live by the ocean, i could meet a young wind and stop it before it ran wild with anyone's heart. maybe i could walk along the coast and search for the magic which i once found in you, and i would not have to listen to old feelings and memories, but banish them to the water's edge.
there would be seagulls and salt and solitude, i wonder if that would finally drive me past the point of no return. vast, empty days spent doubting the existence of the past, as now, here, i sit cramped up in a deep green cocoon.


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