I think of one of the last times I saw my girlfriend.
I held her hand in the back seat of a taxi cab as we swerved through the streets from my best friend’s Brooklyn apartment to the airport where we’d kiss goodbye. I think of this moment a lot. One of those brief seconds where I caught myself staring out the window, not saying much and listening to the radio. We were listening to Frank Ocean before I knew who Frank Ocean was. It has been stuck in my head forever. New York City knows music better than Miami ever could.
I listen to Frank Ocean a lot. Now, at the least. It has been a nonstop thing. I hum songs to myself while I am sitting around. Let a line or two slip out when I am alone. Practicing my voice which hasn’t sung in a long, long time. Why it’s hit something in me, I’m not too sure. But it has.
Because of this, I often think of my girlfriend and the mental count of days I haven’t seen her. I try not to rope the two of them into one another, but, it works itself out that way. Music is for stories and lately, they’ve just been stories of my own. My own life. As to not let them slip away into clouded over memories. I don’t want to lose everything the way I leave everything I need to bring with me at home.
I am a forgetful child, I don’t want to be, but I am. It is a Brain-Age Memory building game for my life. I have diaries I don’t keep. A sentence written in a notebook as I was trying not to cry. Looking at it does nothing. Sounds keep up everything. I jump from one thing to the next, to the next.
So, I think of her sometimes, when I hear some songs. Not all the time, but, sometimes. The way we put things together like that is funny.
The way everything works out is kind of funny.