Note: Online promo piece of a music compilation CD of the same title for the now defunct online magazine “IF”, the Italicised Words are some of the track titles from the CD.
It’s always the same. The faces are blank, bleak. The suits, the ties, the dresses, the briefcases, the hand phones clung together so closely everyday at any given time, never connecting. This Botanical Sunset Paradise, you’re loneliest when you’re not.
It’s not pain or joy. It’s just is. An indifferent Journey to the City. It isn’t whining. Recognizing your life isn’t pathetic, it just is.
It’s not pain or joy. It’s just is. An indifferent Journey to the City. It isn’t whining. Recognizing your life isn’t pathetic, it just is.
You wish it’s different. Because somewhere in the murky depths of you, you know it is. So you wake up, and put on that Good Morning Melody, trying to remember what it’s like before you became this.
And for awhile, you do.
You remember it was a Fuzzy June, not that it was any different any time of the year.
The memory plays. It’s all in slow motion, but it was still running too fast.
Was it slow because you wanted this to last? Was it fast because you know you can’t go back?
Xi, that’s the name. That someone else. You remembered happiness. Not the kind you leaped of joy, or laughed or yelped. But acquiesce, contentment, sated-ness, serenity laced with simple smiles.
She told you about the Best of Boston, that far away fantasy city.
“Tell me what’s it like to be sober?” she’d ask.
You remember you wanted to be there.
You remembered she say she’ll meet you there.
An Ancient Note written in a long forgotten time but etched in your mind like a birth mark.
You pack your bags, call off work. You move across time and space. The faces today didn’t seem so blank and bleak.
You step off and you see her there, waiting.
“Tell me, what’s it like to be sober?” she asked.
“I forgot,” You said. “I just remembered you.”