there it was, hidden in the lining of the coat a roll of hundred pound bills and i knew to keep it to myself but i was petrified that everyone could see it in my eyes the secret i was holding
what would dream analysts have to say about this? that i had money coming my way? that i was rich beyond my wildest dreams? that i had financial woes? that i should check my winter coat for the change i left in it last year? that i watch too many movies with thugs in them? that i am hiding something?
the leaves are falling back home without me to witness the waltz of yellow and orange and blood red summer’s funeral but i can feel them tumbling to the ground i can feel the wind carrying these little deaths announcing winter’s arrival
and in the spring will i too have grown into something new?
it was at somerset house before the old black and white movie played the sky was on fire and we sat on blankets drinking wine out of plastic coffee cups music bouncing off the courtyard walls and this song came on and collin said “nice track!” and asked me to use the ting ting on my phone so i shazam’d it
and here we are today and you’ve both gone and i miss you but damn, those were good times eh?
insomnia will make you watch when a man loves a woman until 2am and ball your eyes out at the part when he says: ”when my wife hurts, i want to ask her: what’s the matter, baby?”
and when you wake in the morning (were you ever really sleeping?) and look at yourself in the mirror through those tiny slits in those big puffy eyes you wish he was there to ask you “what’s the matter, baby?” but he’s not