Frightened Rabbit – Fast Blood
We met on the internet in the comment section of a now-defunct blog.
Life was odd back then. New to separation. New to travel. New to taking annual leave, and actually using it. New to texts, emails and making connections. New to suggestive comments.
You pursued. You wanted to find mystery.
Confused, I let you in.
We pried open histories in music and film. You knew what you didn’t want, but didn’t know what you did want.
Your opinion was only expressed through a supportive song – or a distrustful comment. There was something uncontainable about you, as if you were a person I had known for years, yet entirely alien. Life was art. Life was like a song. Art was like a dream.
An opportunity came up to visit your city. I took it.
We met on a rainy day, in the open square. It was a vision in fog, naming the statues, writing their stories. You mocked my idiocy and wished I knew more. I mocked your faux-knowledge.
My five-day trip passed, with friend evenings, blankets, making do on very little, tea, date noodles, red wine and films blending into actuality.
In all this, there was meaning, because meaning meant so much to you.
This song fizzed around, a pure description of that short time.
On my trip home, I looked so distraught that the attendant brought me free food and drink, to cheer up my coldness.
Back in my home city, communication dwindled, and the candle blew itself out.
A fortnight later, you’re passing through. With coffee and suitcases, you leave home for the trip of a lifetime, and within days, your new partner in your new country is paraded for all to see, with loving pride.
Meaning meant nothing. A test-run for the future.
A Picture, A Song, Some Words 