Your sad streets and bitter faces were a gateway that I passed through momentarily. A brief drizzle, grey and spreading, soaked though the edges of my clothes – my thoughts – my dreams and nightmares of you. Your ghosts are less prevalant, less real than those of the eastern breed. Those have teeth and venom, and once they get into you — you hardly fight at all.
We had a touch of fight in us, a bit of resistance, an ounce of struggle.
It got us through.
I passed through those moments one last time and ended up in your arms. Your embrace was as cold, as distant, as full of distaste as I imagined it would be.
This new place has, since, taken me into its arms in a way you never did. With you, it was fight all the way. A resentful, compacted, pressed down violence that slowly filtered into my blood from your skies and your air and your passageways.
The one comfort in you is the bridge where I always could have jumped.
I stood there looking out at your darkening lights that single night I laid beside you. One of your less-than-bitter passers-by stopped and leaned out a car window.
“Are you alright?” they asked, with a sad knowing look.
“Yes,” I even smiled. “I’m just looking at the city.”
“Are you sure,” so unsure.
“Yes,” and confirming for the both of us that this moment was passing through our skin like a ghost with hardly any mass at all pushing through our completely corporeal bodies. We shared eyes for just a second, just a moment. And in that moment, I turned from you — Portland — to the North where my future was.
The dowsing rain up further the mountain drowned out the tears you used to push me to. Here, in between this bay and this moutnain top, I feel a sort of safety and acceptance I never did down below.
Today, I try my hand at being a part of the flow and ebb of this place. A bed is in the mail, soon, for the two of us to sleep upon. You, city of passivity and agression never coming to light, will no longer fit beside me.
Today, whether or not my impressions are real come to light.
I hope the summer is kinder than that winter was.
We’ll have to wait and see.
At any rate, my time of cut lines and disconnected wires is all done. I’m back to get trapped back up. Back to fight where, what, how I know how.
String me up nice and tight, or else I’ll come loose again.