| [quiet, much like churches are] -august 2001- i am being stupid. train ticket in my pocket. the scenery kinda goes by at this pace that blends it all together real well. i am stuck here i am not concerned. press my head to this window it must be made of what glass or plastic ? and there's this kid sitting next to me and he looks so young and alive but there's music in my head through my headphones and aw everything must look better in headphones. he's got this bob dylan hair and these bob dylan eyes and he's got sweet sweet dirt all over his shoes. his face is in this little gold book that i've read and this must be his first time bcuz he too looks so golden. eyes wide and i bet he can't believe this. maybe it's his first time alone but i will tell you that he's felt alone before. his long legs are stretched under those seats in front of us but i had peaked down to see his shoes and yeah i saw those feet tapping along to the rhythm of the train and the runaway voice in his head. i bet the feeling just fills him like those big gusts of wind on the beaches before storms i bet you thats how it fills him bcuz i can feel it it is fucking contagious. tall and skinny the kind of boys i like with rhthym in the way they talk and that look of hope and something wild in their eyes. and i feel so much older like i've experienced what this kid hasn't. he looks like he's never been touched and i know that is not me or how i appear. sweet little kid who is somehow older than me now. but i'd still never touch him. this look of constant worry crosses his face every few minutes and he keeps looking at his watch and god i realize i've been staring at him fer awhile now. it's just this feeling inside me. quiet like churches. . .. churches in italy . it feels like churches really. and i want to make him holy. scared boy wearing the kind of jeans i should wear cuffed nice at the bottom and his long sleeved shirt with all these buttons and o god that hair . . the way it curls . it's just the feeling. how he is taking me back there to those churches and the music is taking me back to that holy little place where hands were just hands [did i mentions his hands . . ] and my eyes were photographsand i understood shape and movement the way the landscape could dance along to the little black cd with the dark little mans voice. innocent boy glances at me looking at him he sets his book down with a quiet smile that isn't so much a smile at all. it's a look of pure feeling. he moves his cordorouy overcoat reveals his grey backpack that shows no wear. my headphones still pressed tight in my ears. FEELING. if anyone has it this boy who would have nothing to do with me in real life but here in my churches he is my one real love and he is making me believe in god again bcuz here in my head or my heart [ maybe somewhere in between ] there has been some shortage of feeling. every boy is void of it completely of this brilliant love fer just being this genius want to feel and learn. AND HE'S GOT IT. he's got everything. i can tell don't you know how sometimes you just know ? he's not dead inside he's awake and so few of us are awake he is and i am [ i think ] . but he'd have nothing to do with a girl like me if it weren't fer this train this quick hand of fate and it wouldn't even hurt me . that beauty [ which isn't necessarily purely physical ] like this would not touch me. bcuz him .. i . . . we . .. . . he is silent now. not foot tapping no drum of fingers against golden pages or knees . i want to take his hand [ which is not just a hand ] and i want to run with him. buy some old car and take a trip into the desert or the mountains. we'd take and adventure and spend our nites awaketalking crazy with our heads and knees pressed together . like sparks could jump in between. we'd paint pictures together we'd lay on rocks and taste sand and he'd GET this music this constant need and laugh when it was funny and i'd only cry when i meant it. he'd hold my hand to fall asleep and we'd make so much nonsense it'd fucking hurt . but the train is slowing down and i can feel the tired brakes and how i have to pack up my headphones and move on bcuz unlike this boy i've got somewhere to be. a place to go back to the no feeling boys and the sorry excuses fer love. i want to leave him something so as i get up i hand him the little balack cd that makes my head spin and he gives me this look like maybe i understand and maybe he's sorry to see me go. i say keep it and he says well i . . . thanks and i lean down to kiss the kid on the cheek and i say never stop okay ? never . stop . *me .back. |