walks late at night

cold wind gusts on a cool august night it smells like fall already and you're not ready you feel hungover already and you're not even durnkyou feel heart broken aready but haven't said anything about love. it's there though, in the subtext. it's in the way you look at him, the answer his eyes won't give you, the way his hand is limp in yours. it's in the way he never calls anymore too but that could be forgiven with a fuck

someplace else

You feel like someplace else 1.1 ( // we spoke at length about our sense of place, the way buildings facades tell stories about their days, how urban shape provides structure or erodes it – my feelings sprawled over your landscape in an untidy mess, an uninspired mimicry of rurality, cul de sacs and winding lanes. Nostalgia for good simple livin and dirty hands, two things things you’ve never had. Staying smart in the city, focused in all you do, right? Lay out our lives a colonial town turned metropolis- grids, numbers, streets! Avenues! Boulevards! (roundabouts to make me dizzy) your roadmap is too worn to read the street names clearly. It’s like Vancouver I guess, you’re beautiful and lush and alive but I hate your fucking yoga pants and the way everything’s so far apart and long car rides and taking the bus and not knowing where home is anymore. You know I get motion sickness and sometimes just want to lie still and close my eyes while I wait for it to pass but that’s not how it works. I have to look out the window and watch another block of detached homes with shitty basement apartments go by and I get claustrophobic just thinking about the low ceilings which doesn’t help. I was staring at a ceiling here at home in Montreal, thinking about the 2x4s that hold it up, the decades old mold growing slowly in my friends’ bathroom, worn out wooden doorframes and creaky floorboards. I was thinking about climbing onto the roof to make out with someboy in the early evening darkness of a mid November night- it seems like years ago. I was thinking about the way the roof of my old apartment buiding sloped to the center, the crooked floors of my 3rd floor kitchen, the bathroom painted Hello Kitty pink, the basil plant on the balcony I could never keep alive and the mint that grew uncontrollably all summer, something wild in the backyard just two floors down. Amidst all these memories, as they rushed around my head in a blur, I felt your body rigid like a steel beam holding far more than its own weight. I’m feeling more like decorative wood panelling.