trouble

the blue tide is pulling me away

tomorrow will be easier

because tomorrow you will say,

spanish is the language on her tongue

my afternoons all warmed up

do you feel as blue as your blood?

see my bones all swelling up

my name sounds foreign from your lips

ah, you should know that there's no life

if it's not living by your life

write me letters from all your islands

lick the stamps, spell me out in postcards

red moon, red moon

oh how the dawn breaks half in bloom

see how streetlights all fade out

i'll give you everything but not so soon.

-

And she won't let me go.

jesse in the park with celine

We walk down this cobbled street and take a left at the end into a park:

Memories are impermanent as long as you're still alive. You can revisit memories, tweak them a little here and there or even change them entirely.

-

The day is fading into evening and leaves crunch under our shoes:

We are young, we have all the time in the world to revisit the feelings found in the people from the places we have been. But time is taken for granted when you're young. You assume that the process of change only applies to you, and that the world will be forever frozen the way you want it to be. But the world doesn't wait for you to grow wiser before slipping back into it.

-

You get really excited when you talk about things you're passionate about, astrology, the universe, our place in the sum of things:

The only permanence lies in these few seconds that make up the present. We are the very sum of our experiences and memories at this very moment. And as time goes on I feel I'm being filled up with all these thoughts and feelings and scenes that I splinter into many multitudes.

-

We've been walking for fifteen minutes. But I remember these fifteen minutes better than I do whole years:

These fragments wander for a little while, bringing me back to events meaningful enough to be retained, like the wonders of a first encounter. Of all wonders that surely has to be somewhere near the top. And then these bits and pieces slowly merge into a more solid and chronological whole, with its own history and story. The thing is, when you pull everything you've stored over your life together again, you suddenly don't remember anymore.

une année sans lumière

Hey, my eyes are shooting sparks,
La nuit, mes yeux t'éclairent,
Ne dis pas à ton pere,
Qu'il porte des œillères.

-

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.