Soft like there’s silk everywhere :: musical sensory recall


Keep Art Alive :: Art by Joshua Petker

like a pillow
she won’t care
anyway (where).”

Her lips were softer than mine, smaller, pursed when she looked at me, budding like a rose. There were subtleties between us, stolen glances and half-hidden suggestions. I wrote about her in a composition book that I took with me everywhere that unseasonably cool July. It was months later that she admitted, in a fight no less, that she used to read it nervously in the backroom, glancing up at the monitor every other word, making sure I was busy with customers.

We sat with our feet in the gutter, between two parked cars. The rest of everyone left inside drinking, music playing loudly, we could hear it clearly from out there in the street. She talked on and on, chasing words into circles around us both, the speed pulsing a back beat rhythm just under our pale skin. This song flowed out of the open windows of the party we had left behind, and she said to me, with her eyes focused far off and away, “this song was playing in my head when we first met.”

It was a lie, an after midnight manipulation, something I would get used to whenever I fell hard for someone, like how I was falling for her that night. My heart dangles so clearly from the edges of my sleeves that it becomes ever so tempting to tug on it, tie it in knots, make it someone else’s own. That night I believed her, took a deep breath, and leaned in closer.

And right there in that moment, as this song began to end, she stood up and ran away.

Only Shallow :: My Bloody Valentine

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