Taking it

California makes me think of things on a loop. It’s the same stuff and I remember every time I’ve been here. Same feelings, different numbers. I think of you, think of you , think of you think of you and I hear nothing. I’ve got a friend who listens to the whole thing, the whole silence of it. So I’m in California, I’ve been taking busses around Los Angeles. Up and down from Venice beach. I’ll call you when I get back home, home like it was before, home like where I come from.

But you come from here, don’t you. You told me that. It’s made up in my head maybe, I pieced it together slow but I dream up what it was like for you. How you saw things, what made you want to leave, do you ever go back. Do you want to.

Late day and the greyhound isn’t gonna run any longer. I call your stepmom and she brings me to the familiar Sacramento apartment. The room has seashells hanging from the walls and neon signs. You and I used to stay here together as teenagers. You learned how to do whippets in the living room and I wasn’t allowed to. Whole days spent on the road, whole nights spent on the bus. On my phone, in my world, thinking about yours.

When you were young you had close friends. They took care of you and you don’t mind if they are difficult, just like I don’t. I’ll tell you that next time I sit beside you, you could do anything to me, I wouldn’t mind. You could do anything and I would take it. You had bunkbeds in your room. Like a boy does. Stickers on the posts. Cool kid dressing like you weren’t supposed to. Skateboard down the road headphones in and late night plans with everyone.

I have a memory at 15, of a party in the woods. Tents in the field, dancing late with the boy in the purple sweater. Sleeping in a dog bed on the porch. Strange Molly more like mom’s speed. I feel loopy and high for days and I stay in your bed for most of it. Crawl in through the window, stay locked under your covers. New things new things new things.

I like thinking of you hungover. Bottle throwing smashing on the ground but you are safe now in your place. Making coffee and feeling sorry for yourself. Making music and feeling like it’s over for real this time. I like thinking about you thinking about me, and thinking maybe next time.

The hills stretch out and I am on my way back to the desert. The softness of it, the sadness of it. I’ll take it. You can do whatever you want to…