skinny love.

This song came on when I was driving back from Southampton. It inspired me to write this as soon as I came in.

I started to forget the bereavement my heart had associated with you. It seemed like a distant sickness which alarmed me. My brain was relaxed as I drove no more than 80 mph on the motorway. I knew the journey like the back of my hand – the piano of the song made me daydream a little. I gazed over my dashboard, the dust that laid there must have been the oddest combination of ash and age. My eyes traced the edge of the steering wheel as my housemate was relaxing in the passenger seat with her eyes closed, seat pushed far back. I couldn’t imagine her thinking about how I felt driving at this exact moment of the day. Her mind was pondering just as mine was. I continued to look at the control board of my car. I saw the millage clock and I was shocked to see how many miles I had done since Christmas, since you came into the car – that moment I only remembered I’d hit 80,000 miles. Unluckily I remembered this. I’m currently just off of 83,000 miles. I couldn’t remember how I had done three thousand miles. The piano played an intense solo, I contained to think. I didn’t think of you directly.. It was more around you if anything.

I remembered a plan we had with a few friends – a road trip over the previous summer gone. It seems so long ago I imagined the same atmosphere in my car and momentarily forgot my housemate was there. I imagined three girls, all giggling in my car – following a car filled with boys. We were headed south west towards Cornwall. I laughed again, I remembered how ridiculous the idea was, and only because I disliked one of the girls so much I wouldn’t ever let her step foot in my car or near me for that matter. I laughed and the song ended. My day dream was interrupted by my housemate’s laughter. I smiled bigger than I had all journey – I was glad it wasn’t real.