M
i'm sick of listening to disney's song on repeat, and also to the ghibli theme song played on my playlist thirty times a day. regardless of the same old hazy beat and soft noon rhythm, it never leaves my spirit like a muscle memory i know is carved within my crybaby soul. love sick remnant of our marigold love story, i guess it is the reason why i can't get rid of the things i purely loath: the chiming piano keys playing in our old attic which i always listen to every day, the aroma of my grandma's latte every afternoon, the smell of soaked pavement after a heavy rainfall, made up metaphors written on my headboard because i cannot get over you and the very almost universe we had.
i spent most of my time searching for the seafoam memoirs, wherein you and i—still young, still oblivious and easily deceived by foolish ancient track enclosed by a 90's fragile vinyl. i wonder where do abandoned lyrics reside? i never liked the way these nonsensical things always cloud my gossamer mind, but do you know where do almost's go?
in spaces of empty halls, forgotten train houses, clones, empty streets in tokyo, unoccupied hospital lobbies, null voids of a cave, idle town, closed mental corridors, and in places we won't talk.
maybe it is where the almost's and goodbye's abide. spaces and downfall marked by absence and unrecognized places, to make sure it is to be stored perfectly. our memories are still existing, even if you feel it no longer does whenever you are trying to remember every single moment we spent together at the school rooftop or inside the student affair's lobby. the answers we never get to have, the questions we never spoke of, the oasis of ideals our plum dipped mouths has never sprout, and... the cosmo we nearly built.
FM 21720
FM 21820
FM 21920
ALL TUNED IN
"Radiolab on air, Quatro's newly released song, Empty but Handful. as requested by our listeners, we'll be back shortly."
"...empty but handful
our love has always been awful,
oh baby like the verge of the deepest sea
it is where our memories go,
it is where you and i go.
go, go, go,
reside baby—
our love story is empty but handful."
"Radiohead on air, welcome to the night show!"
FM 21920... TUNING DISCONNECTED //
there it goes. perhaps we aren't really meant to end up together, or even to touch each other's lips with the traces of our dazed fingertips, even the slightest word of some unknown language we never had the chance to learn because it comes from a fucking french kiss. maybe we are really just an almost. maybe it has to hurt this much because our fate is to fill the crevices and holes of the places we have never been.
as long as the anamnesis of you and i remain on places we won't talk. it would hurt less this way.
or, or maybe not.
—swevenry.
