Sweet world, with it’s inconsistencies between reality and observation – I love thee like a classical quintet at a birthday party. Like the dark kitchen lit by the cake, full to the wooden rafters with humming people. Like they all love you, that’s why they’re here. Let them sing the song and be filled to the brim with their silly off-key trilling music. Someone will always be attempting to harmonize, maybe this time they’ll succeed.
This time, the cupboards are painted dark blue with white handles.
Standing in line at the grocery store with Alastair seems unreal somehow. My mind is so used to having Mine away that when they’re here, it’s like an artificially constructed ghost. I’m certain if I touch him, my hand will pass right through him without any resistance. Leaving ripples across his face or not even that. Like he wouldn’t even notice. My mental hard-drive is going to run out of time here, by the time I’ve encompassed what’s truth, he’ll be gone.
Tonight we’re spending at his place. The yuppie picket fence condo across from the park. The view from the upstairs window is like a tourist postcard named “trees aflame”. I’m sure by the time he’s done with it, there will be at least one framed poster on the wall and a black piece of furniture. One day he’ll come home to find I’ve done his fridge in some horrible fun fur fabric. I expect to be a slightly less generic influence. Young Man With Tech Gear Like Turntables plus Oddball Girlchild With Strange Aesthetic should be a good mix.
Off to movies, champagne, cheesecake, and Dominique.