Tag: melancholy

Storyteller.

All I really know is that we were on the phone and he told me that he wanted to tell me a story.

I was happy because I knew in that moment that he could have chosen to be on the phone with anyone, but he chose me.

And there I am listening to a story about a man with only one thumb.

But he is laughing and I am not.

He says, ‘I guess you just had to be there.’

It’s not that. I am not laughing because a big part of me is sad. I’m sad because I am thinking and preparing for a moment a million moments from now – when he doesn’t tell me these stories.

–S.

Black Boots.

2014.

I’m driving home.

It’s 2:32 in the morning.

It’s chilly in Texas now.

More late at night than during any other time of the day.

I wonder what the weather is like where you are. I turn the radio on, and I hear Justin Timberlake taking back the night.

I wonder what you’re listening to nowadays. Are you playing your piano?

I turn the radio off. I don’t want to take back this night. It’s beautiful. I want to burn it into my memory forever. It’s truly been special and I haven’t done anything special in quite some time. When I am wearing my faux leather black boots, I feel like I can do anything. I wore them tonight. If we still spoke, you’d know about them. I would have sent you a picture. I was dressed in all black with touches of gold jewelry. I felt sexy and mysterious all wrapped into one with a ribbon on it.

I laughed a lot tonight. Real laughter. I meant all of it.

And there was this moment when I was driving home, and the air was blowing aggressively against my face, that I missed you.

I really really missed you.

I wondered if you were at work maybe thinking of me too.

I wanted you to wrap your words around me and bring me warmth the rest of the car ride home.

I wanted you to lay me down on my pillow and sing me to sleep.

Your deep low timbre.

I would do anything to hear your smile – even over the telephone.

I don’t even need to see it, it would be enough.

Just to know that it was my smile. For me. Because of me.

If it’s cold where you are, I wish you warmth.

I wish you the sun.

–S.

I remember those faux leather black boots. I wore them into another love story. They were my favorite boots to dance in downtown. Eventually – one of them started coming apart and I would use black tape to keep it together. I was wearing them in dimly lit bars and clubs, but also didn’t give a fuck if anyone noticed the tape.

I loved those black boots. I LIVED in those black boots.

RIP Faux Leather Black Boots.

You Are My Sadness.

You are the sadness that I will never outrun.

Or outwalk.

Or outcrawl.

Or outlove.

You are the melancholy deep in my bones, multiplying in the marrow.

You are the weariness in my face.

You are the only daydream, I cannot erase.

Until we meet again, sweet sorrow.

–S.