the writer to the singer

We reside on different planets and orbit worlds occasionally; I caught a glimpse of you through the window while you were working and in your own public world while I walked past anonymous in mine. I tried to read a book about the coming moon but only thought of you and tried to know your thoughts about the morning.

Yesterday the papers said that you were leaving town to live elsewhere, I didn’t believe them, you may live somewhere else but this is where the memories are. I’ll still hear you downstairs waiting for me to open up on Friday night. I will see you on Monday and buy you coffee, I’ll bring you everything you need for travel.

When you look into my eyes tomorrow you will see no glamour or falling stars, you might see Mars if you hold on for a few more seconds. You might feel the space between our worlds now you can see, you have learnt how to look; you have learnt how to be. A career is a balancing of various things and a journey in itself.

Look around for signs of me; they are not hard to find these days, they are no longer a discovery. In this town there are signs of you, they will not be gone by Tuesday, they will never leave. I am looking forward to the time of our next meeting, I want to explore where you live, even if it’s on a road.

Don’t take the attention for granted, don’t shield off the glances, don’t be defiant and never in despair. I used to never care about people staring or pondering the move I would make next, it’s good to be unpredictable when in this light. Close curtains when entering the house, throw down the keys onto wood, be aware of yourself suddenly out of bounds and praise the heavens that you have what you need.

In my taxi home from leaving you I will look out on city streets and see sorrow in all the pedestrians’ faces, anger in every car and busses full of melancholy. In the evening I will climb up onto the roof and while smoking, I will see the galaxy, I will see destiny and I will find proof.