there are moments that crystallise in my memory
assorted fragments - some sharp, some victim to the rounding effect of time
they are moments where a piece of who i was, who i am, and who i will be collide and linger
sometimes i piece them together like a stained glass window
in the glass i see myself
in that twin room with my cousin, with salt-crusted hair and freckled cheeks
in that corridor with its broken windows and brown, shiny brick that was always cold to the touch
on that windowsill overlooking forest and fields the night before we met
sitting in my living room at midnight in the light of the tv pressing play on the first month of us
in that aquarium, looking at your reflection in the dim light and deciding my future was in that faint outline
in that too-fancy hotel room, drunk on the fleeting feeling of wanting
on that scratchy grey sofa, staring at that ceiling and deciding to let you go
running through that field in fading light, hand in hand with the wish from every birthday candle
in that city where i lived alongside ghosts that weren’t mine for once
on that train as time rushes past and leaves her behind
in the flickering purple and red light of that bar as cold metal seeps into bare thighs and smoke crawls through lungs
dancing, dancing, so much dancing in the street
that first laugh at an email and the decision to reply
in that alley packed like sardines with friends i only know for the night
sitting at that dilapidated shelter waiting for a bus that would never come
in the sea as the waves crash over me, baptising me over and over in their forgiving violence
in that flat where i began again.
