What would Amelie do?
September 26, 2010 § 3 Comments
Whenever it feels like there is a hole in my chest instead of a heart, I console myself with the question ‘what would Amelie do?’ I mean, she would probably go and and stick heart-shaped post-its with poetry scrawled on to some bicycle baskets. I did that once. I did.
In this situation I’m not sure what to do. Leave Glasgow? Or just this street? I sure as hell am not leaving this world because I’m not fourteen anymore and I don’t try to see how far I can hang from fifth-floor window ledges for the rush. I haven’t stopped wanting to, but I’m tired of being some Lady of Shalott-alike. I would have stayed on the island, Lady, where there were eats and wine. And I would have dealt with it. In time.
I think it’s okay to postpone pain, but if you postpone more than one problem everything kind of builds up and bowls you over. It’s like some are born of sand, and we will always crumble when held. I just don’t want to slide through your fingers every morning like a waif who couldn’t keep her head down.
I’m no ghost, I am a being. And I’d rather you didn’t jog-on-the-spot in your shiny blue spiked running shoes on this particular spot. It’s my heart, and I rather like it. I’m tired of having to pump it back up every time I get a puncture. I didn’t make it so flimsily, it was given to me this way, y’know, like thrift toys with missing eyes.
I cannot choose what you do, for you. I know my 8am dream was just a dream it was just a dream, and I had to strum Dorothy to rid my head of your voice, but I’ll thank you kindly to leave me alone when I’m trying to get some kip. I have to deal with falling for you every morning, and when you appear in the early AM, you are no vision. And I am not alone.