time; can you hold slowly for me,
i find that i can't unravel myself
these days.
all i can think of is my old home by the river,
on the stone-lined hill
by the church
(i've spent three years here with you,
from that first breath and then dive right in to you.
but i was not ready, and it never felt the same)
and i only crave a time when i savoured everything.
a slow time
alone
in my old apartment.
with her wood floors
and high ceilings
and a window that opened like a guillotine
onto the balcony
with my white cast iron furniture
where the rain would collect
and the sun would hit me in the morning,
and i'd wake to it.
and september would be my favourite month,
because of the leaves, not because of your birthday.
and coffee would be my ritual
and i didn't have tv
and i had my records
and places for things
and my plants would sit by my window
and i'd draw there
and sing
and cook
i wouldn't order food, i'd walk to the grocers
i'd work out in my living room
watch movies on my terribly old tv, on a dvd player
i'd watch tv shows on repeat
and i loved it
and i was alone.
and i loved it.