Dansar i april

Under the Westway
Image by Bengt Nyman (License)
One day you will miss me. Echoes under the westway will crawl the skin like my whispers along your neck. Your hips will ache because my hands are not there to protect them from the expanding universe. Cigarette smoke will no longer send its shoots down your lungs as I will no longer be there to hand them to you. And the carpet on which we danced will dust and my footprints will silhouette where the taste of my skin still lingers. You will look up at the westway, from below, and you will see the imprint of grass from where we used to lie to look up at the city on the other side of the bridge. You will run to escape the demons that haunt you, but the past it does not run; it lingers in the nooks you forgot to cover and the crannies you sometimes venture to peer in.
One day you will miss me, long after my screams for your love have dissipated in the evening breeze. You will whisper the words I so longed to hear, but they won’t catch tide in the haze that now surrounds your lonely soul. Bulting eyes will open from nights that ventured too far into pandoras box, and my arms will not cover your beating heart and drench in the sweat you emanate.
One day you will miss me and I will wish that I could feel pride. Vengeance. Glee. But remorse is the easiest coat to bear, one which hangs heavy against my shoulders and ties a knot in my chest. Because I too have crannies and a lonely haze and a thumping heart that is a constant reminder of what was and is no longer and can never be. And all I will is wish that you could miss me when my arms still reached, my words still resonated in the enclosed night air, my eyes still begged and my heart had not iron-bolted the last entrance you had managed to reveal.

ur arkivet 08-2013