الكون جنه معاك

The bassline starts up and I'm already drawn in. The world becomes a little fuzzy around the edges. I'm nowhere but here. Nowhere but now. And I'm beginning to fear that for someone with a brain like mine, there is no happily ever after.

Maybe I don't have anything to talk about. Perhaps I'm not as open and relaxed as I would have believed. Maybe it's the flannel, the darts, the beer. Maybe they take me further from myself rather than anything else. I am surprised and proud to have stuck around this long. Three years past the 27 Club. It's a really big deal. And right now I don't give a fuck about your intentions at all.

Would you look at that. Thirty and still a mess. But past my prime. You told me so, too. Twenty-eight would be my peak, I believe you said. I think it was earlier. But that's not all true, is it? Not a mess. In fact, much quieter, much more reserved. Restrained even. Emotionally aware. Stable. Until I'm not. Until everything in me is screaming for something new, something more. Something younger. They keep getting younger, don't they, baby? You would know.

But I've achieved a lot. I even mention it now, during the song. Do you know what I do for work? No, comes the answer. I - I black out again. Maybe I only said it for myself. 

I don't know how old he is. I don't know how we ended up by this power box, everything tinted orange from the nineties street lamps. The call this place the ch'tis. They ain't wrong. I wasn't missing much. Except punk and darts.

I don't even remember his name. Someone will tell me once the song is over. After the crescendo, I realise he doesn't have my shirt. One day in the future it will strike me that it might be the same shirt that Levi once brought over to me. After I was thrown out and he carried me home up a hill. And they blamed the suicidal ideation on the drinks. An easy way out. The doctor will ask me in a few weeks if I still need Crisis Support. Of course I'll say no. I hate doctors. Psychologists never helped. Therapy makes me depressed. 

The song fades out. Sound and colour. Everything sharpens. The horror sets in. Nothing has changed. Most importantly, perhaps I haven't changed. But it's alright. It's always alright.