So while I was pondering what exercise I could do to work off the crazy amount of food I have eaten today (I blame the weather. It suddenly turned cold like autumn, after unseasonably warm weather, like autumn. But now it’s cold, like autumn), I found this.
This took me back to memories I am sure I have somewhere. And the time travelling was exhausting, to say the least. Not to mention the memories of always going everywhere on skates. So, considering this song is over three minutes long, I’m checking the exercise box off my list for today. Take that gym bitc junkies!
PS And yes, the disco ball is still in my kitchen. That thing ain’t going anywhere.
Have we had that conversation?
It was going to be a normal day. If it was the last thing they ever did. A normal day of picnicking in the sun, like normal families. On a sunny spring day. With a packed basket. And a blanket. And outside games. And other normal things that nobody they knew ever did. Because, well, they did time travel to get there.
And this was where they were going to meet her grandmother. She told them she had the secret to normal and she wanted them to have it. It would be in a little box. And normal people carried such things around. Although, she had never opened it herself. She was just going by what her mother had told her.
And sure enough, it was labelled “normal”.
On one side. The outside.
The other side, the inside, was a lot more than they ever did not expect.
“What was that word again? The one that was on his face?” I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW. “What was that time again? You know, when he was in that place?” Stop. Just stop. “And what was the song he played? The one from…?”
Her fingers recoiling, it slipped from her grasp.
The urgency was suffocating and all she heard was line
after line after line after line
of how not to do it.
How would they find it? She couldn’t remember the rules and every step she ran, she jumped two steps back in clarity. She hated that he got to the formula before she had, and now she was paying for it.
He decided to surprise her. The last thing she would expect from him. He knew it was against the rules, but he would take her back. To the beginning. The problem was, the only vivid outline was from their last fight. Why couldn’t he find the bridge? He had the formula after all…
He was right.
There was something exhaustibly hilarious about the situation. She just couldn’t remember what it was. After all, it had been a few days since the operation, and they assured her it would grow back. But she was the anomaly, wasn’t she? Was that the funny part?
She looked over to the bucket of words but it was almost empty. She sighed. Her sighing normally turned things inside out beautifully, but not this time. This time she stopped half way.
I never noticed that before, that ceiling, she thought to herself. All this time, she hadn’t noticed the fabric of her security. But she had never floated like this before. The current had always looked uncomfortable.
The boat rocked gently convincing her she was awake, although, now she couldn’t see. She was blinded by pin pricks of light that ferociously claimed the space around the notes.
By the time she reached the entrance/exit, her eyes burned with sight. And there he was. All the younger for the waiting.
This looks lazy. Although, remember, looks can be deceiving. Well, except in this case. I am being lazy.
But, this is worth your time, I promise. It went around a couple of years ago, and because I’m so obviously filled with love for fellow humanity, and not just chocolate, I thought I’d bring it back around. Maybe counter clockwise this time. But read it. For all of its philosophical poignancy/hilarity/downright jocularity. Because, it’s been misnamed.
that same time…always that exact time…1:27 am, (although, yesterday, come to think of it, it was more like 11.30, and then the night before it was 12.45,
and then, I think earlier in the week it was actually in the daytime, but it could have been 1.27pm, now I hadn’t thought of that, but I know it wasn’t 1.23 because I purposely don’t look at the clock at that time, and of course, there’s the whole 11.11 thing, which is another time I don’t look at the clock, because, well, it’s just begging you to, and I spent too many years being superstitious and I just don’t do that anymore. (But if I am brutally honest, there are some things I refuse to say out loud because, well, Murphy. And now I am writing within a bracket within a bracket, which means I’m inviting you into some inner inner thoughts and I am actually rethinking that because well, now it’s 1:37am and I seriously should be getting some sleep.
And I have to allow time for this gorgeously, heart breakingly melancholic lullaby….))