Bowie playing on the tunes. I was already thinking about you. Wondering if I was finding my little puzzle pieces, just to continue making our blurry little story a little more clear. Good times, and an infraction of good music. I spend all these days with my wrapped app. A dedicated listener. A third of the year spent sleeping, third of the year awake, third of the year spent listening.
Sometimes I hope the shuffle sends you spiraling back to me in our cutesy little whirlwind. Not abandon each other like we’ve done just about every other time. Too early for work, late at every other cross-section of relationship. I’m not late for my friends. You, however. I always waste the damn ticket. Stuck in this semblance of you. Whether it be kismet synchronicity or a little jokey-joke from the universe. The ones that send us tumbling and we delight our senses in debauchery and many nights spent together in my bed or anywhere else.
You know where to find me.
You are the one that can note my personal petrichor as it flows through the breeze in your immediate direction. Cut your eyes again, I saw you look this time. Ran into you again. Caught those brown eyes again, that seem dauntless and deserve no description. You’ve spent too much time describing mine. Let’s not waste time.
I think that’s where the dichotomy of lost time, becomes problematic. For You. For me. For anything that occurs between the atoms of ours that even crosses the residential space of each other’s being. Merged even when you’re away. Not gone. I’m still waiting.
And then, maybe then. After many songs. Many shared stories. Many affidavits of our love for each whispered quietly in the arms of the person I trust most. I’ll watch you walk out that door in disbelief. The world stops when you’re around. Eventually I get your message. Eventually I hear your distinct gentle swivel on the doorknob. A visit home. We’re finally together again. And I love you, and you love me. And it would all be so beautiful if we could ever stick to our guns. Sometimes you don’t even want to stay for a coffee. Others I find my eyes burning from the consumption of film after film after film. So many films we’ve shared together, we’ve lost track of which of our inside jokes are references or self-made. My gullible mentor, that doesn’t even realize we’ve been studying to hone our own works.
Just another rainy afternoon.
petrichor - archive 