AND THERE’S PLENTY OF WAYS


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Okkervil River – So Come Back, I Am Waiting

I sat on those concrete stairs, rife with cracks that were riddled with ants crawling as fast as they could to get back home. Those concrete stairs, waiting, the air humid and thick and pushing down on my skin. So humid and held so tight, not the tightness of our time, but this new tightness of my time, so tight I couldn’t tell when I would start to breathe again. Those stairs hurt to sit on. They were too hard, immovable, impenetrable, they would be there for God knows how long and God knows they hurt to sit on. Cigarette butts were littered around my feet, and if I stared down long enough and let my eyes wander and blur til it looked the way it felt to sit in that humid air on those concrete stairs, they were just orange blobs, blocks, not stepping stones but walls and barriers for the ants that live in the cracks that were crawling as fast as they could just to get back home. Cigarette butts littered around my feet that were anchored to that concrete, immovable, waiting, held by the humidity that was causing beads of sweat to form in the crease of my knees just like the creases and cracks of those concrete stairs. There was an ache in my spine from those goddamn concrete stairs that just wouldn’t go away, an ache in my spine and a hunger in my bones that screamed at me from inside, to move, to stop waiting, to start walking and moving forward just like the ants knew to do. There were cracks in my nails just like the cracks in the concrete, but these cracks were not pathways, and there was no way home because while I was waiting for you, home did not exist. My home had cobwebs on the ceilings and cracks in the paint just like the cracks in my nails, the walls in my house creak and moan just like my bones creak and moan on these concrete stairs waiting for you. Waiting for you is stifling, so tight, not like the tightness I knew with you but this new tightness that I know alone, so tight I can’t tell when I will start to breathe again. [Buy.]

Déjà vu? We do have more (1 2) from Léa.

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