I want to say to you that…I’m so….You know that time when we…I know this doesn’t make any…. Sometimes I wish that I could…But if I only… and then the way you ….. but perhaps it didn’t…. and then again oh but you…..it’s not clear if… and at the same time….there was that….there was that….I thought you….
Sometimes the light through the curtains obscura makes a wall shadow of trees. Sometimes you see feet passing underneath the wooden gate outside your house. Sometimes the sun slants, the waves slap against the ferry boat, shuttling between islands, sometimes the wind bangs a door, again, again, late in the evening the escalator down to the underground clicks round and round and round and a sweet wrapper from a relaunched bar skitters along the platform then drops onto the rails.
There are photographs in a photographer’s window of gorgeous children who are no longer children, they climb into the parks after hours and hang upside down on the monkey bars, they drink purloined cider under the slides. There are wedding photographs of the newly divorced in drawers, there are pictures of pop bands in envelopes owned by ladies with wrinkles.
What if we….well I never…..I wonder …we could have….remember when I said that….I remember the things you…in the end we….the end is never…
There is a programme on the television that revisits the decades one by one..The fashion then. My God I wouldn’t be seen dead in….There is a colour tinge for every place, for every space in time, there is a sense of…Lemon sherbert overtones. I wouldn’t be seen dead in batwing now.
Unspooling, film heroes unmade, running backwards, erasing. We tried to rewind the tape into cassettes with HB pencils. In those days the imprint of ourselves could easily be tangled and mix tapes had clunky pauses. Which song would you choose as your last?
If we had…if you ever….and I really wanted to…but when we….and at the end of the day… after all….and I wouldn’t be seen…
I rarely send letters. I stopped wearing a watch.