The people in the small town on the tip of Africa dream of coming to a city. And those in that city dream of Long Street in Cape Town. And they dream of Johannesburg. And they dream of Los Angeles. And the people in Los Angeles dream of living in a small town on the tip of Africa.

There are times when none of us are happy and all we can see is that place that is anywhere but here.

You were never willing to sacrifice what I was willing to sacrifice to be me. You wanted it easy. You wanted a perfect story. No good story is perfect.

More deep breathes. Less cigarettes.

A Pack of Things

New vinyl smell. Rain on a windscreen (windscreen wipers). Dog eared books. Spelling a word right the first time you write it. Someone else’s hair in your face. 12:00am. 11:11pm. Acoustic guitars. No top. Bubble wrap. Hot weather at 1:00am. The muscles in your shoulders. Empty roads on the way home. Sitting upside down, staring out the windshield in the passenger seat. A comment on your wall. Inside jokes. Sugar. Candles and power failures. Knowing where you’ll be a week from now. The expected, unexpected. Dichotomy. Serendipity. Words ending on an “e” sound. The whole day is in bed. 

Now And Then

Now I'm 5 years old and punching the boy who tried to take a picture up your skirt. 

Now I'm 11 and swaping spit with you in the shadows of the church after Sunday School. 

Now I'm 16 and walking you home at 6am so my mom doesn't catch us sharing a bed. 

Now I'm 18 and holding my hand against the glass between us, minutes away from a bus that'll take me far away from this town. 

Now I'm 23 and I'm living with you and we eat dinner together each night after work. 

Now I'm 24 and I'm giving you a letter one morning telling you why I can't do this anymore and we're spending one last night together, in tears. 

Now I'm 25 and you make me laugh and I make you laugh and we agree that our jobs come first and they do and you leave and I stay. 

Now I'm 27 and it's my birthday and we sleep in the same bed but we don't kiss and you're the opposite of everything I know. 

Now I'm 28 and I'm packing a car with everything I own, heading for a plane that'll take me far away. 

Now what.

I've been suffering fever dreams for a good 5678910 days all locked up and everywhere to go since I landed.

I can cry. I can weep. I can scream myself to sleep.

Honestly

I've been movin,g punk;tu'tation a(r-ound= the wh^OLE d,.ay oh f[or f.u..cks.. s/a.ke....s..who...left...al.l..t.h..e.se...f..ul..l..s.t..o...p..s....h...e...r...e...