You can’t keep anyone quiet, and that is all you want: quiet, like you had before when your life belonged only to you and you drank during the day in the summer, sometimes secretly alone on a Tuesday after work with your shirt untucked and your feet propped on the garden table. Sometimes, you still smoke a cigarette, and then brush your teeth and spit into the sink the blue-green medicine the absolves you of the sin of independence.
Sometimes you still think of me. Usually while you’re smoking and already thinking about washing your hands, but sometimes you’re on a rooftop taking its temperature. You used to send me photographs of the degrees. Sometimes, you’d send me a mountain. I’d reply with the walls of my cubicle or a paperclip.
Sometimes when you think of me it isn’t fondly because I am the cigarette, the hot roof, the temperature of fire you weren’t ever sure whether to inhale or measure. Now you scrub your hands, the empty crook of those two favorite fingers over the drain and it’s done and already you want another one, but it’s too late and you’re too clean. Outside, a dog barks at nothing.
MP3: Johnny Flynn- Howl
Buy this album, I implore you:
posted by holly.
One Comment
I’ll put this album on my list of things to listen to soon. If this song is representative of the quality and tone of the album, I’ll end up buying it. That was so raw and so good.
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