Clementine had become a wild child. Born in America but raised abroad, she now had little regard for the expectations of high society. But her reckless ways eventually catch up with her when she is kicked out of college in New York City and forced t...
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violet liquorice purple nights of love with you
lonely warm summer nights after us
caffeine fuelled city escapades of the future
and my sweet sweet goodbye to you and your mistress all the drugs and the music and the highs and the coming down and the Belmont cigarettes
I was a dancer before I met you
burning my tongue on oriental teas
give me back my peace for the summer at home
and above all I was a dreamer
maybe ill see you again, with my skin tanner and my hair longer and my bones thinner
Zico folded up the note, crumbled by now after 100s of folding and unfolding, crumpling in his hand. As if he could take it away with his own sheer strength, but of course he couldn't.
She left him just like that, because of one stupid little (huge?) mistake. He hadn't hear from her since, then out of the blue he got a handwritten note from her, delivered right in his mail box.
He read it agiain for the zillionth time.
"Porra," he murmured under his breath.
As if it wasn't enough that he was now living alone in this stupid apartment, it made it that much worse that the reason he was living alone was that his roommate - his friend - his bro - was lost in a drug war. One which he would have no choice but to fight.
And as for Clementine, he did't even get a chance to explain that it was all innocent - he was innocent - or at least, as innocent as you could get on the streets of Rio de Janeiro.
He missed her. He missed her stupid, beautiful face. He missed her body, her hips...
It felt as if his life was clouded by a dome of darkness and loss, and he was becoming more and more alone.
Just one more hit...
He was going to be good. For her. So he would only lit one joint...He opened his wallet, looking for some rolling paper, and as if on purpose, he found a picture of her. He had a few from their time together, but this one was his favourite. It wasn't the sunset picture (his second favourite) but it was a picture of her smoking, bare-breasted wearing only a cross, covering herself with her hand, smiling lazily looking at the camera like a mysterious vision, a ghost in his bedroom which no longer existed.
Maybe he dreamed her.
He smoked the joint, staring out from his balcony, watching the sun set. Thinking how it looked different when they were watching it together.
Then, another joint, and suddenly he did't feel so bad. He felt lighter, okay. He didn't have her, but maybe he didn't need her.
THIS was company plenty, and he wasn't even hitting the hard stuff. The weed came from Mexico, and as a tip for moving it, he got his own supply.
The only problem was that he didn't have nay more rolling paper, looking around a little desperately, he grabbed the first thing he saw that would work, pretty high by now he was on a new dimension.
And it was like this, that he burned Clementine's words away from his memory.
