I put the CD into the slot and watched it get sucked into the machine. The 12:36am BBC blurb about meth in Korea is silenced by the quiet before what I know is coming.
It was like I saved it for all these years (wrapped up in the perfect wrapping paper, the paper with the patterns coming out of my blood) and I took it out of a box: the smile that was going to come.
The song started, and I smiled that smile, you better believe it.
The smile from remembering a flame, but not the burn. A flame that was too much of a chemical fire to ever become real love. It dissolved into the rest of life, diluted by the changing seasons and new carnage.
What I mean is, that song reminded me of the purity I used to feel every morning, staring at my own reflection. A naivete that is long-gone. A child who cherished all pain because being alive was brilliant and gutsy. It reminded me of a winter without nightmares.
And this very early morning of August 23rd feels clean and new again.
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