fucking well come and find me- i'll be waiting
i find myself overcome at strange moments by images so vivid, so present, that i am reduced to tears.
tonight it was the beach boys, the thought of a small basement kitchen, and my father mouthing the words to a simple song.
i thought of a thousand and one questions i suddenly wished i had answers to. things like, what the first serious album he bought was. and what colour of suit he wore to prom [did he go to prom?], and what season it was when he got his driver's liscense, and what his first apartment looked like. things that seem so inconsequential, but really, can mean quite a lot.
of course i'm reconciled to the fact that i won't have answers. it's not the answers that i'm looking for particularly.
however, in case you need to know:
the first album i bought with my own hard-earned money was lawrence gowan's au quebec
. i went to my high school prom, and my dress was a floor length salmon affair with gold beading that i still to this day secretly adore. i got my driver's liscense in june- early june, with warm days, cool nights and everything still that impossible yellow-green. that night i told mom i was taking the van, twenty dollars, and that i didn't know when i'd be home. it was terrifying. and outstanding. and thrilling. i haven't lived in an apartment yet- but my house is old and crooked with hardwood floors and is full of laughter and smells of baking and bright yellows and teals and rich browns and oranges- all things you could not tell from it's horrific exterior. oh- and we have pigeons. i haven't the heart to evict them.
but i do have the heart to listen to the beach boys.