Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Like Dorian Gray

“I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain,
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.
Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray.
I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble.
It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.”
Tears & Rain
(James Blunt)

So here I sit. Wanting you to be here so much but there are reasons and good reasons why you won’t. We are all adults here and get it. It cannot happen. Yet this does not stop the wishing. This does not stop me waking up in the night, thinking wildly of some plan that can make it possible. I do not sleep anymore since you went away again. The hour is alive again like never before. Instead of improving this desperation it has become more. I’m awake when I should not be awake and she said you will break down if you cannot get any sleep, but what sleep how when all the dreams this drugged takeaway bring to me bring you with them and I’m thinking of you again.

I’m not a child. But sitting here, the memory of you, memories that seem from photo albums of another life we have never lived come filling all the spaces and breathing is suddenly so hard and I think I can’t take anymore then I’m looking at your smile and the little things you do, through all this distance and you’re oxygen again bringing me to life again. You wish me so much, wish me so well, and I thought this is what I wanted, believed this is what I wanted, but what is the use?

Old habits come back. I have taken to walking the streets again. But it is never to the old places anymore. I walk with you in my mind and I look at the people I meet and I’m not content to see just faces anymore. I want to see more. I want to know there is behind the two eyes I meet on many streets, a soul that is like your soul and I know even before I begin my walk that there will never be one like you. So I’m walking these streets with this unacknowledged hope in my brain that somewhere on these streets there is a piece of you left, that some miracle is going to play a trick and looking through a glass window on former Greenland Building, I will see you looking back at me and you will smile, laugh and call my name and you will walk through glass and time to join me. Oh well. What can I say?

I want to run again. I have not wanted this in so long. I have missed this, I can say this now, and oh how I have missed this. You bring alive bits of me I did not think could ever come alive again. Not thinking of journeys for so long, it has all come back. I was content to settle, you’re making me wake from this second hand life. I want more, more than the more I want, I want you with this. It’s no use having all this possibility without the ultimate possibility making all this happen for me. Teaching me that it is no use or worth finding comfort in pain, happiness is here, all I have to do is to trust, open again chambers I have not opened in years, a girl like you, what else would I want. Not a girl like you, exactly you. Counterfeits are never good enough and you said second is no good. Well I know.

You seem to think that I’m the one doing the favour here when it is no longer about favours, when you have become a life support system. I do not need other pleasures anymore to keep me from trouble anymore, taking mental trips in night taxis to Bulaga, places you have never been with me but that you imbue with more meaning than with most of the people I have been there with. Awake in rooms past the midnight hour, this wine-glass full to the brim, undrunk from, in conversation with you, I will never be the same again, these scars with magic tissue are healing, and for the first time I’m not afraid of changing, becoming, looking at myself becoming, and you are here watching all this time, in Bulaga on trips we took together, the conversations we are having more real than my everyday and you surprise me with an observation about a place I have been to more than a million times and early Saturday mornings are dedicated to you, eating this morning, not speaking with anything but our eyes over the table, still tipsy on joys we will never speak of to anyone. My Bulaga days are full of you; my everyday is full of you. Why does this still surprise me? You are the unasked for, unprayed for, unhoped for, least expected suprise and the best one of all. The best.

Tears & Rain with Pain tucked away