“I wish that you were here with me to pass the dull weekend / I know it wouldn’t come to love, my heroine pretend.”
I met you in a dream, I was waiting on a just-soaked street, slick cobbles in the squid-like blackness, the extractor fan steam swirled its arms around me, and showed me images of succulence in the red glow of restaurants, shouting in kitchens.
There was such electricity in the air, felt like a spark would arc me out of existence at any moment. I shifted myself along to a bench draped in darkness.
And heard music and clatter of voices spill cacophonous onto street, then like a trumpet’s blare, muted.
I wondered what I was doing there, between not-earth, not-sky, some promise hanging on the lips of the world, some event so certain it feels like it’s already happened…
A warm bank of air, moisture laden, pollen-heavy drifts over me and I feel like I’ve entered another room.
I wonder where I should be, where I am meant to be going. Then you arrive, I catch you stand on the table in the corner of my eye, abandoned cafe by those who are scared, scared even of water – that which gives them life.
The droplets corruscate beneath your feet, and I fear you’ll fall. But my hand is grabbed and I’m up here too, arms around each other, so tall it feels like our heads could touch the unquiet sky above, complete the circuit – flash!
But instead we step down, walk up the street ahead, knowing a good little place around the corner, and before we get there, I wake, with lyrics and music in my head.