I’d like to think that I have a choice.
Sometimes, when there’s water rushing, I can hear you. And I cover my ears.
Haunting pipes is a very you thing to do. I take a shower, and you’re there, and gone, and there again whenever I turn on the faucet. I’d like to think I have a choice. For when you haunt me.
I’m refusing to let you make me grieve in the rain. Picturesque, but not for us, you know?
I go for a walk today, after the showers. I’ve taken to wearing headphones to cancel out the drip, drip, drop. My choice, to hear you.
Something tells me you loved the gardens on the hill, when the roses bloom, or when the tulips spring up, dazzling in pink and yellow, or when a crocus dips its head over the path, silky-soft to the touch, and you can stroke it with a finger.
You know exactly where my feet guide me today. And I know you’re watching me, I feel your gaze, peeking through puddles. You follow me through the sunswept colors, greenery like never before seen, like Ireland, if you ever got to go.
This time, on this walk, I keep away from the big flowers, the roses with layers and layers of petals. The one magnolia tree. See, they could hold you, after the rain, dump your whispers on me all at once, if I push in the wrong way. Little cups, brimming with you, and all you should have been. I wish you could be with me today. I turn up my music. I don’t hear it.
I can hear only you.
I think we’re getting to know each other better than ever.
I can nearly step over the rusty iron gate, but I lift the handle and let myself out the civilized way. I’m growing; I can prove it.
It’s been ages since we last spoke, properly. I’d have liked it if we hadn’t ended on a sour note, back when we still got along. I think things could have gone differently if we’d talked things out, spoken about our differences, made amends. It could have been much sweeter.
I wonder what became of you. Truly, I hope something happened. You have people, I’m sure you’ve got more than me. God knows I couldn’t manage anything nice for you. I was fishing in the river for money, nothing left for a nice goodbye.
If I could talk with someone who knew you, I could tell them how much you like the rain. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I could tell them how you’re doing, that you’re here, for me. Because you chose me, and I wear headphones to hide you.
Yeah, don’t guilt me about it. I know you’re listening.
I take the long way home. My sink keeps dripping, and I can’t seem to get it to stop. It drips straight through the night. I can tell because you whisper right alongside it.
I’ve got earplugs now. For nighttime. It’s my choice. They should start working any day now.
You tell me stories in my sleep. It’s messing with my dreams, and I wish you would stop. All dark nights and cold water and hands reaching out and adrenaline and I wish you would really stop. Really.
The world is much more beautiful in the daytime. We could have both been walking out now, instead of in the middle of the night. We could have simply walked together. It would have been much less painful.
I won’t be telling anyone. Our secret, right? I won’t be telling anyone why. I don’t know you, not anymore, not after we argued. You don’t know me, not after months of silence between us.
I can’t tell anyone you chose me, can I?
You chose me again, and we both know how we worked out the first time.
“The gardens are closed today,” says a man in a black raincoat. He eyes me up and down. “Did you come in another way?”
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” I stammer. “She wanted to be here.”
“Who?” The guard backs out of my way, off the path that leads out of the park. “Did you bring a dog?”
“No, just. Just the rain.”
He nods slowly and walks away.
You’re just making life difficult at this point. I know you hated me in the end. Can’t you see when someone doesn’t want you around? Read me like a book. I’ve made my choice. I turn up the volume again.
I know the dreams are memories, and I know why you chose me.
I like to think that I didn’t have a choice. I was already waiting, but you could have gone another way, and I wish you had. You were wearing heels; I heard you pause at the corner. Not that I was listening. I’m not a creep.
It’s only you, and me, and your rain. I wish it would stop.
I’d be lying if I said I did it by accident. Stop it. I’m not a liar. Don’t guilt me more.
Wrong place, wrong time, too close to the river. I could have stopped; I’m glad I didn’t.
And the depths are a real good place to get lost.
Sometimes, when there’s water rushing, I can hear you. And I cover my ears.
Haunting pipes is a very you thing to do. I take a shower, and you’re there, and gone, and there again whenever I turn on the faucet. I’d like to think I have a choice. For when you haunt me.
I’m refusing to let you make me grieve in the rain. Picturesque, but not for us, you know?
I go for a walk today, after the showers. I’ve taken to wearing headphones to cancel out the drip, drip, drop. My choice, to hear you.
Something tells me you loved the gardens on the hill, when the roses bloom, or when the tulips spring up, dazzling in pink and yellow, or when a crocus dips its head over the path, silky-soft to the touch, and you can stroke it with a finger.
You know exactly where my feet guide me today. And I know you’re watching me, I feel your gaze, peeking through puddles. You follow me through the sunswept colors, greenery like never before seen, like Ireland, if you ever got to go.
This time, on this walk, I keep away from the big flowers, the roses with layers and layers of petals. The one magnolia tree. See, they could hold you, after the rain, dump your whispers on me all at once, if I push in the wrong way. Little cups, brimming with you, and all you should have been. I wish you could be with me today. I turn up my music. I don’t hear it.
I can hear only you.
I think we’re getting to know each other better than ever.
I can nearly step over the rusty iron gate, but I lift the handle and let myself out the civilized way. I’m growing; I can prove it.
It’s been ages since we last spoke, properly. I’d have liked it if we hadn’t ended on a sour note, back when we still got along. I think things could have gone differently if we’d talked things out, spoken about our differences, made amends. It could have been much sweeter.
I wonder what became of you. Truly, I hope something happened. You have people, I’m sure you’ve got more than me. God knows I couldn’t manage anything nice for you. I was fishing in the river for money, nothing left for a nice goodbye.
If I could talk with someone who knew you, I could tell them how much you like the rain. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I could tell them how you’re doing, that you’re here, for me. Because you chose me, and I wear headphones to hide you.
Yeah, don’t guilt me about it. I know you’re listening.
I take the long way home. My sink keeps dripping, and I can’t seem to get it to stop. It drips straight through the night. I can tell because you whisper right alongside it.
I’ve got earplugs now. For nighttime. It’s my choice. They should start working any day now.
You tell me stories in my sleep. It’s messing with my dreams, and I wish you would stop. All dark nights and cold water and hands reaching out and adrenaline and I wish you would really stop. Really.
The world is much more beautiful in the daytime. We could have both been walking out now, instead of in the middle of the night. We could have simply walked together. It would have been much less painful.
I won’t be telling anyone. Our secret, right? I won’t be telling anyone why. I don’t know you, not anymore, not after we argued. You don’t know me, not after months of silence between us.
I can’t tell anyone you chose me, can I?
You chose me again, and we both know how we worked out the first time.
“The gardens are closed today,” says a man in a black raincoat. He eyes me up and down. “Did you come in another way?”
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” I stammer. “She wanted to be here.”
“Who?” The guard backs out of my way, off the path that leads out of the park. “Did you bring a dog?”
“No, just. Just the rain.”
He nods slowly and walks away.
You’re just making life difficult at this point. I know you hated me in the end. Can’t you see when someone doesn’t want you around? Read me like a book. I’ve made my choice. I turn up the volume again.
I know the dreams are memories, and I know why you chose me.
I like to think that I didn’t have a choice. I was already waiting, but you could have gone another way, and I wish you had. You were wearing heels; I heard you pause at the corner. Not that I was listening. I’m not a creep.
It’s only you, and me, and your rain. I wish it would stop.
I’d be lying if I said I did it by accident. Stop it. I’m not a liar. Don’t guilt me more.
Wrong place, wrong time, too close to the river. I could have stopped; I’m glad I didn’t.
And the depths are a real good place to get lost.