LFW

Literally a Fucking Waste.

Photos: Twenty8Twelve and Math Collective

Our Window

I dreamt of you last night. And in my dream I was telling myself to remember this exact moment and everything about it because memories fade and we forget, then I woke up and all I remember of the dream is the feel of your skin.

It's strange how one room can make and break so much.

One tiny room that you had made your own, with a rug and a red velvet throw, a Russian mug and books. A Beatles pillow and school boy covers, a guitar, a laptop and speakers. The familiarities of that room made me feel so safe, always the same things on the bulletin board, my maldives flight ticket left on your desk for weeks. The wardrobe with only the casual 'essentials' of tweed and silk shirts mixed with indian materials. An orange ribbon you used as a hair band, espadrilles and your winklepicker boots I hated so much. Listening to the same acoustic mellow as we lay face to face on the tiny single bed, just staring for hours. At night waking up from the purring radiator next to my head and watching you sleep. All the different days of events, outfits, times and emotions but still the same place and the same thing.

Your guitar, my hair.

Like the seasons outside I watched you bloom and mature.

From your shy face hiding behind a pillow to coming in drunk and collapsing face-first onto the bed.

When I came back from the Maldives neither of us wanted to admit to missing each other. Instead we talked endlessly and in the end you held me like never before, sat there on your bed in that tiny room.

I had been a 'positive influence' on you, I inspired you to do better and for this you loved me.

Packing the entire content of that room into one car.

With no space for memories, just things, piles of things I don't even remember seeing, things that had been hiding under the bed we lay in.

We stood in that empty room on last time. You kissed me and said nothing would change, why would it? But despite the emptiness, everything we had was left in that room. Like a time capsule. Everything I loved.

In the car between us there was a shotgun.

I walk past it now and smile on times spent in that tiny room and try desperately to remember them because I don't know who you are now. That boy from the room is not there anymore.

'I have nothing

I have no one

I've been so quickly set free.'