16.6.08 | this is
The Saturnyne sits in his dark dark chair and thinks of people not here.
This is where i leant against the railing at the station. Red sneakers, black trench, stripey shirt. I remember saying to Pumpkin on the way here: "Jeez!- I look like fuckin Neil Tennant in Doctor Who nowadays". to which the Pumpkin gigglingly reminds me that once again, i have mixed up famous names
"It's David Tennant! Da-vid! And Anthony Hopkins STILL didn't appear in Psycho"
Same difference, he and Perky both played murderers!
Sitting and thinking...
This is where i stood with my air of uncomfortable assumed nonchalance and where we first met, on a rundown British train station platform, weeds and yellow wild flowers bursting through the cracks, sunlight bursting through the clay coloured sky to light up the day, both from above and below. Truly, stars shone in the hour of our meeting, but only for those to see who can.
This is where we hugged, as natural as breathing, and standing back, i marvelled at your vivid blue eyes with their mischief and wisdom in equal depths.
This litle stretch of pavement is where we spontaneously burst into dance! blithely unaware of the million and one people walking past us. That was fun! can we do it again?
This is the cafe where we drank good strong coffee beneath the brightly coloured fishies with their cheery grins and happy crazy eyes, talking of our homes and peoples.
This is the exact spot on the street where we met that old lush and tall tail teller, Jimmy Satan, who with yellowing and cracked teeth and whisky breath, showed that even a drunken Englishman can have charm and courtesy, regardless of his wrong beginnings.
This place was the Sainsbury's market where we discovered a new appreciation for things to rub on our faces and where the security guards looked at us with baffled bemusement. Obviously, they have never seen carrots put to such good use *nods wisely*. It's also the place of cakeys! *nom nom nom* and vinegar crispies *nom nom nom*
This is the taxi where you probably realized that everyone in the entire world will talk to The Saturnyne given the chance, and indeed The Saturnyne does give them that chance, for better or worse.
This is my tiny home, where i discovered in my turn, that Swedish people cannot understand why our tap water smells of swimming pools, nor why we have so many differerent transport companies or Utilities that all run so badly. In Sweden, everthing is brilliantly efficient! And expensive- but still! And while i tried as always, and with anxiety, to be the perfect host, i discovered once again, how wonderful it is to have perfect guests also.
This is the city we ventured to, and ate the most delicious seafudz and where i finally allowed my imagination out for the evening. Scary, isn't it? But not as scary as drunken English people (tall tail tellers always excepted, of course)
This is my kitchen, where we sang songs to each other, and i thrilled to hear your voice, untroubled and free and soaring above all your sorrows.
This is the door where i held you tight for one last time, before watching you leave for your long journey back home to your loving beautiful child and the places you are familiar with and your friends and your cats.
This is my dark dark chair, where i sit and think of friends who i miss very much, while listening for footsteps at the door, waiting for their return and the stars to shine again once more.
I'm tired, and i want to sleep now.