I remember new faces, old faces, a handful of people I’ve met while intoxicated, people I’ve loved, people I’ve left, still trailing behind like vapour. I remember Bach at one in the afternoon and Bright Eyes at one in the morning and Joy Division playing on repeat for three whole days. I remember chemicals. Cigarettes that aren’t your usual brand. I have two cuts on your shin, three bruises. I remember being lonely. I don’t remember the last time I ate. I remember a chessboard hidden underneath his bed that’s missing most of the pieces; He has lost a white rook and a black knight and the white queen, that I’ve replaced with a small lipstick, a lighter, a tin of english breakfast tea. I remember slow hands on naked skin and having the person I love most whispering to me, lying in bed in lazy configurations
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