With my knife in my jeans and the rain on the shield :: SOTD


Keep Art Alive :: Art by Benjamin Zhang Bin

Some things we plan,
we sit and we invent and we plot and cook up.
Others are works of inspiration,
of poetry.
And, it was this genius hand that pushed me up the hotel stairs,
to say my last goodbye.”

We took the BART train under the water, the pressure making me feel like I was sinking, farther and farther down into the middle of the earth. I took his hand in mine because he would never have done it himself.  I was holding my breath, counting the seconds until we saw the sun again.

He would laugh at me later for it, calling me his little princess of doom. He would write me that way later, in coffee stained notebook pages, poetry crafted about a girl in blue who sang that the world was ending.

Funny, I was always telling him it was just beginning.

When we surfaced into the city the sky was downcast in that stereotypical fog. The rain came down, baptizing my mood, making me want to run and skip and jump in it. I was still holding my breath, but this time it was me waiting for my chance, to run, to dance, to escape.

I ducked into a store with purple velvet pants and a old Rickenbacker guitar in the window; second hand news just waiting to arrive, to be scooped up and taken back. He wandered in behind me, reminding me that we had no time to waste.

He wore a timepiece that dangled from a tarnished silver chain. It was to the second precise despite its wear and age. I wore an old Army watch, it lost time constantly, sometimes pausing all-together.

Time is like that sometimes, precise and pausing, depending on whose holding it captive.

You swore until the end of the world, but I just kept waiting to begin.

(I’ll Love You) Till the End of the World :: Nick Cave

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