Present Tense
I woke up today with an intense wanting to listen to Radiohead, and no, it isn't because of you this time. There is a certain wistful feeling that only Thom Yorke can understand and remedy. You haven't been the muse for my motives in a while now, actually, but from time to time I catch myself locking eyes with the memory of your intense gaze. Your neatly trimmed bangs follow the tilt of your head, barely grazing your metal-rimmed glasses as you listen to me talk. I like to imagine that I haunt you similarly, in brief flashes when you're on the way home from work as the dying winter breeze carries the scent of burnt tobacco. Do you still smoke my favourite brand of cigarettes? I wonder if I've met any of your friends that you recommended them to... do they even know that I was the reason why that cigarette tucks itself between your lips in the first place? I started smoking a new pack recently, and I shared it with your friend my friend. She liked it; of course she did — I only smoke the yummy ones.
I never did ask you what your favourite Radiohead song was... that curiosity used to linger with me for months. Not anymore though. My favourite songs are Glass Eyes and My Iron Lung. I bought a CD of A Moon Shaped Pool a few months ago; it's my favourite album from them. It's currently collecting dust on my bedside table, but I still have yet to tear it away from its shrink-wrap covering, so in my head it's still okay. Not forgotten, just waiting. Waiting for what exactly? Please don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.
I don't plan on ever seeing you again, and I've made my peace with that. In fact, I don't even think I know the 'you' of now anyway. I know that I'm not the same person you met six months ago under a bruised moon and false rain clouds. My hair has grown past my collarbones, and my heart clenches under different circumstances now. You're simply a mirage; a trick of light pulled from saccharine-soaked memories that unexpectedly appears in stuttered seconds.
It's September now, and the air is finally getting warmer. I inhale the smooth drag of tobacco down my lungs as I blink the sun's glare away from my eyes. The air is sweet with the smell of blossoms and the promise of lighter days. I won't turn around when the penny drops.
Warmest,
Blue
ੈ𑁍༘⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･