There is something. Something indescribable. Ineffable. Shifting and morphing and beautiful. Burning with the sunsets of Miami, 80s. Synths blazing. Purple. Deeeeeep purple. And blue, and orange, and of course pink, and it's gone.
Tuesday, 23 June 2015
"Just one, they don't come by til 5 for dinner," I said to no one in particular. We took out the plastic wine glasses and asked the man at the front desk to borrow his scissors and cut the straw for you to drink with your head on the pillow.
Steve took out his spare shirt and held it to the smoke detector as we lit a cigarette. "They didn't have Peter Jackson, I hope this is OK."
Your sunken eyes smiled as much as they could, and we drank and laughed for a while. None of us had anywhere else to be so we stayed for dinner. The orderlies didn't mention the smell as they came to fetch the trays, so we had another after your pil.
Steve lent me his jacket when I got cold and I fell asleep, listening to the crackle of your breath, shallow and tired. I woke up in the dark, trying to squint through the dark. Steve and Sharon had each taken a side of the love seat near the door. I sat up and listened, and closed my eyes again, smaller than I'd ever been.