I’m in Calgary still. The studio becomes more eerily familiar the more time I spend here. Tonight is likely going to be the end of walking on paint. It is dark outside and chances of dinner are slimming with every minute. I was curled here with Gavin, talking of nothing in particular and glad of it. Our voices are more our own when we are alone. He’s left a canvas on the wall from last night, ready and waiting and tempting. Yellow and something to resist. I likely would if it were set on the floor or lower. Flowers, though it’s midnight and Deans birthday is over. If I knew the city better I would have known where to get him something interesting. Alone for the first time since I left the city.
going to drown my sorrows, like there’s no tomorrow
Dean and Shauna are sitting in thier room watching Donnie Darko. The only room not a riot of colour. The door is shut, but I hear the music. I can understand missing this place, wanting to stay. There is an expression here that I’m not around enough. A feeling of being able to jump, it’s not even fire, but water. I like that their sounds drift muted through the door.
The place we stay in is cold. The basement freezing in the middle of the summer nights. I woke once to the sight of my breath above me. Lighter shadow in the incomplete darkness. This morning I could not sleep for other reasons. Ones more amusing and personal. There is a grotto attached to the building of colour, burned and firegutted. Desecrated ground home for the pigeons, it was beautiful. Razor wire and no ground to trust. Gavin destroying, creating a gate so that I might see. A gift I said thank you for. After the stairway of brick, I wanted to touch him then. Standing highest above together, with lightning flashing. The spark, arcing, likely just me.
We’re too polite in this third wheel syndrome.
We need fireworks, and lightning and other party distraction. I can only hope I mean as much in so little a time, but he turned when I wanted him to, met me when I didn’t ask. Complete with eyes closed and explosions. An appropriate first time for everything. Again. He’ll be coming to town until only Thursday. Work needs him and vice versa. That endless grind and toil. The canvas is set, and it is half an hour later now. Any more time and I will have to play. I can imagine them somewhere mistakenly attempting to give us time alone, not knowing that he’s hours gone.
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n: vb: the spice of imagination