English
How could it be that all this - these strange feelings, this physical pain, this wincing at the sound of your name, was only - a sign of being lonely? How could it be that it was so hard? In a city filled with people- passing through the eye of the needle - passing by so close on the street. I know you felt the weight of it just as hard as I did, that's why I loved you so much - I understood the coldness in your touch. And why you had to go down to the lake for hours every day, just to see the swallows fly up from the waves. I understood you that way. To be lonely, when everybody else says they're not, lonely, when everybody else says they've got somebody, it's only you that's marked - like me. This smudge I can't wash off. This habitual mistrust of you. The thought I can't get near to - the place I always disappear to. Something so big I couldn't see it till it was gone, laying next to him - something so stitched in was undone - and I knew what it was not to be lonely. It don't fix everything, but I felt so changed - like I could just look up at the sky again - blue and plain, new but still the same. I should have gone down to the Southern Cross - any night of the week. There it was - just a building at the end of a street. To see Felicity sing, or Robin play, sitting at the back of the bar, your hand on my arm. A simple recipe, this medicine really, that can let anything in that I carried with me, all this shame and darkness within. Like it don't matter - we all just sat there just listening. To a song being sung, and Thom playing some dissonant run, that reminds me - somehow - of that same knot that's come undone. Like some old wive's tale - nobody tells you about, just this thing that usually works - somehow."