Speaking Us

This resonated. It is what I meant when I referred to a “personal mythology”. A mythology because it is not just the words, but the map of a life, feeling, real and only ever in our heads. A world. It’s why, in a box that is rarely opened, there is a little notebook I carried for months, scribbling down phrases, sayings, the things that meant so much but are meaningless without you to give them life. I worry I will forget them. Sometimes I catch myself almost speaking our language, change it with a pang to something else. Or, worse, it slips out and I am left with the realisation that the expected response, or knowing look, isn’t coming. Nobody else is fluent.

I am indeed the last speaker of a language, keeper of myths. I cannot forget.

Change It!

When you have 61% possession and lose 2-0 with only one chance of note (from your rightback) then it’s too defensive and not creative enough. The worry is McClaren can’t see the shit piling over his umbrella and will send out the same side, in the same formation, with the same tactics and expect something different. Perez;Aaron’s.

There Are Sunflowers In The Corner

Eight years ago, I got off a train, and my heart skipped because you stood there, on the platform, waiting. You could never look more beautiful than that moment. Earlier, tonight, I was thinking about that; how that is our anniversary, that tale of my arriving into your arms and I began to doubt myself. Not that it happened but that it was the right memory, the right point in time. Of course it was, because you would never count that earlier night—with drinks in the Traf, a man pretending to play the piano, when I Want To Know What Love Is played instead of Magic Bus—that night you always claimed as not a date. How could I doubt it?

It is that which cuts me, that loss of our personal mythology. That shared storybook of life that no one else can ever understand. The little things said and done that are meaningless to others, can never be explained. I worry that I am the only one to keep those tales alive. You were always better at remembering. I worry I let you down.

There are sunflowers in the corner, in a place you never knew, shared with someone else. There are sunflowers in the corner, for a picture you once sent me. A tiny piece of lore which I hope you’ll understand; a way to try and say I still, will always, miss you and love you pixie.