How To Build A Skeleton Heart: Love Letters
9 september 2009
I awake to some sort of road works going on outside my window. The sound of the drill is so loud it seems to be inside the dorm room. It is head splitting. On attempting to open my eyes, it is discovered impossible. My mascara caked eye lashes have fused together as I slept. The top eye lashes had stuck to the lower lashes, glued together by a combination of eye gunk, sweat and mascara. I left my eyes closed and took stock of the physical damage done by last nights alcohol consumption.
There is something incredibly decadent and hedonistic about getting drunk on a Monday night. It seemed right to do it here in a city such as Manchester, one of the first places to have the sex pistols play live. I go to rub the bruise on my upper left arm. The very first thing I do after waking up every morning since getting here. There is a dreamy smile on my face. It did not hit me that I had forgotten why I felt the need to do this until I did go to rub the upper part of my left arm and felt nothing. No dull but comforting ache. I poked the area harder and still nothing.
I sat up in my top bunk, bullet from a gun quick. My eyes open in horror and i feel my gunk glued eyelashes finally rip and separate. The bruise was gone and with it any connecting memory. I mentally ransack my brain for clues. Who was it that had something to do with the now non existent bruise? I find many painful memories while searching my brain. I remember loosing ex boyfriends. I remember first meetings, I remember nights I lost them for good. I can see myself wandering around under a grey Melbourne sky, wearing my heart break like a badge of honour. All the pain of my past had a tangible source. A thing on which to project all my pain, anger and hate. It had a face a body that I could happily envision encountering countless accidents.
This pain this loss had no source that I could picture. The bruise was all I had, a hair strand of a connection to something precious. What did it say about me? That I held such a person. That I held such a person willing to punch me, in such high regard? I imagine you must be quite special. Or were at one time. Which is why I feel so torn up and unsure as to what is worse. Not remembering anything about you. Or being inundated with memories of you all the time.
When in hospital the nurses would ask me to rate my pain from 1 to 10. one being minimal pain and ten being maximum. The nearer it got to med time the pain would peak. It felt like my ribs were on fire and my insides had been ripped out.
As I lay there in that deserted dorm room, with the drilling echoing around me. I could have sworn a pain far superior to that made its way through my chest area. Far deeper though and worse then mere physical. I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling waiting for the pain to go away and some sort of comforting memory to appear.
Of course I have not forgotten you. I remember what you said after you punched me in the upper arm by the light of your laptop ”Remember me when it hurts.” You bundled me up in your arms as I laughed and shouted at you in shock. I said you don’t need to give me bruises i n order to stick in my memory.
That whole concept is null and void as I keep records of parts of my life that affect me. This means that even if I did have a lapse in memory I could simply check my notes. The question remains, however, would my records be accurate? Would my retelling of our time, of our encounters help in jacking up my memories of the real you? No of course not. The reason being that as a girl who has feelings for you, Anything I write is going to be flawed and knotted with emotional subjectivity.
Today I went to the movies. I went to a place called the Art house which plays independent and old films. It also has a two story art space for exhibitions. There is a café and bar as well. I sat in the darkened theatre alone, watching a sub title film about love and betrayal. I got a bit teary as I remembered the last time I had been to the movies. The last time I had sat in the dark with you.
until next time. From my molecules to yours with hugs and kisses