Stardust (draft 1)

Another night in the Midlands after a heavy weekend of drugs

and you are there to catch me in fresh bed linen, a square meal and cups of tea in bed.

Reminds me – You were there to catch me when I learned to ride a bike. One hand a foot behind my back.

Very little is said about the past, now we talk about the future.

You bring it up like it’s around the corner, crack open another bottle of gin and talk about big things like we’re going down in a plane crash.

Listen, I still can’t bring myself to tell you how much heartache you caused while we bounced between three houses more than a decade ago.

When you disappeared we scooped her up, brought her back from the edge and guided her back to the light.

You’re welcome.

In my experience people who talk about death feel it coming

Feel it’s weight heavy on the brain.

You cried once when you had cancer

Even those who struggle to open up do one day

What’s it really worth now anyway?

At some point in the future you’ll just be stardust.

You’ll be chairs, paper, hair follicles, cotton; twinkling, burning, drifting. Ephemeral.

I look around the living room and feel weightless on the sofa.

You gulp down the remainder of your gin and switch the TV on.

Brian Cox and his Wonders of the Universe

As we watch the swirling beautiful world in silence

You turn to me and say,

“We are all stardust. You. Me. That sofa. Everything.”

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Oh god, tell me it’s ok.

Look for the blackest thing and pick it out

I bet it’s a hairdryer

Yes, I am eating alone at this restaurant

And yes, I do like the feeling of being punched in the face

Did I tell you?

There are words for things I don’t even know about yet

Which is distressing because I want to know everything immediately.

Sometimes it’s difficult to know whether being alone is good or bad because it can be both, surely.

Do you understand?

Writing in first person is all I know because I’ve never been anyone else.

The feeling of walking into a room and forgetting what you went in for is how I feel about life now.

Oh god, tell me it’s ok.

You, again.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget I am a living breathing human. 

Occasionally I feel like a pork chop in the butcher’s window, just waiting. 

Have I ever told you being single is harder at the weekend? 

Me saying “don’t get it on my face” made it instantly soft. 

I’m sorry if I should be less vocal with any complaints. I’ve never been an extra-marital fuck. 

My pleasure is often impeded by wondering what your kids look like, so please stop assuming I can come on demand.

Have I ever told you being single is like being trapped in a room with yourself? And there are no windows to gaze out of, only piles of dirty clothes and empty voids.

I want to get sucked into a portal, eat ice cream on the beach, and then go fuck something. 

It’s hard to stop wondering why you haven’t called.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll go throw myself off a bridge to check I’m still alive, if that’s not too dramatic for you.

Maybe you’ll stop being an arsehole and we can all move on.

Don’t think about your daughter.

I am wearing a masculine shirt with socks and sandles and I am not giving a flying fish cake no matter how stupid that sounds.

I am thinking about you in a Canada Goose jacket and nothing else.

Where is my ability to think straight when your body is near mine and we are reaching for the kettle?

Is it possible for two people to make a cup of coffee together in exactly equal measure?

I am looking out the window at the rain and thinking about your wet-look hair.

I wish the last time we fucked we weren’t listening to Placebo. I wanted you to think about your hands around my throat instead of your seventeen year old daughter. That’s how hard becomes soft.

I am the wet flannel that slipped off your towel rack.

Together We Are Wider Than Anything.

We stood up and measured ourselves against everything we could find. We measured the tips of our fingers to the points of our elbows and compared them to the panels in the wooden doors, lining them up precisely; edging palms up, straightening each ulna. We took the edges of each eye and we spun and spun until we knew exactly how many Mississippi’s it took eye to eye around the backs of our living minds. How tall are you compared to this fern? Here, let me place your finger in the crack of the wooden floorboard. It’s but a fingernail wide; the baby, that is. Where is your nose in relation to this light switch? We compared ourselves to the world and this we did every Sunday; Our only way to distinguish between life and death.

The Mighty Catfish.

The mighty catfish sunk to the floor

It sunk so far it could go no more

And then one day it saw the light

Saw the light and decided to fight.

It raised one whisker up from the sea bed

Raised it way, way above it’s head.

It said, “Hey World, I think it’s time

To stand up and to take what’s mine!”

And sooner or later it was flying high

Flying high in the media industry up in the sky.