Monday, 4 September 2017

To the girl who worked at Franklins.

I used to sing a popular song.
Not well, not badly
but I'd sing it a lot around the house and when I got to the refrain you would join in, slightly out of sync.
Like a poorly rehearsed music hall routine.
But you would sing those eight or nine words with such laughter, such light in your eyes.
And my fucking god it made me smile to see you smile.
Between the substantial clouds
the paranoid silences
the tears welling but never falling
the laconic accusations - questions for which I had no answers, not that you were after any.
We crippled each other;
You with my levity
Me with your clinging philosophies.
But that's what young people do.
And if they survive the ordeal
They grow old and stupid and needlessly proud.
Maybe like you.
Definitely like me.

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