imagine this
a life lined up like snapshots
I wrote this originally in 2023 for Zach Enquist’s dance theatre work ‘A Simple Misunderstanding’, examining the unspoken breakdown of a relationship.
Imagine this, a life lined up like snapshots. here, your first vacation together, you and him under a darkened nightscape and the ocean too, black hole that pulls you in naked and running hand in hand joy in joy... and then here, you, another night a crowded room him, making friends with strangers and you, across the bar watching and wondering if you’d ever feel anonymous again. here, you again, a song stuck in your head a relentless loop it’s your song the one they’ll play at your wedding you love that one, remember remember first date, he was late but he was worth the wait and you tell yourself to call it patience as you quietly wash yourself in the fantasy of what else and then, here, when he asked how old you were when you learned to swim and didn’t wait to hear the answer. I’m thinking about loneliness but something else is coming out something else always comes out my nasty tongue I don’t mean to hurt you I don’t mean to be the song that is a loop stuck in your head but does the moon mean to be a moon? do the waves against the shore, the relentless tides, choose their existence? what is this persistence? what does it mean for six o clock to roll around and think, not this again? Imagine this, there is loss all around you - every day that could have been. they become flowers blooming into tomorrows. you pick them bring them home cut the stems pour the water in the jug you use as a vase set them on your table delight in them. Imagine this, he comes home they’re the wrong flowers not his favourite - your favourite - but wrong all the same. Imagine again, a darkened hour 3 in the morning what are these rules you abide by? avoid the floor where the floor creaks, stay inside stay quiet drink your water go back to bed. wait, go back further, take a closer look at that first one zoom into that black hole beach to that unfiltered joy to that cool salty water swallowing your naked bodies fast forward to the part where you turned around and gone, gone, gone, he was gone panic that lasts an infinite second a scream, yours, how could, where is - - and then he’s back laughing like he never left. joy never left joy is one of you pretending to drown and what is drowning but the very act of one of you pretending to joy? and at the bottom of the barrel, a final snapshot. you pick yourself up again this one’s a bit blurry you’ve never been here before although it feels familiar the same house the same bed the same dinner the same flowers the same conversation the same you the same him how many years has it been? you stopped counting after your 15th anniversary you stopped caring ten years before that he’s home from work you hang his coat up make the drinks smile at each other nothing left to say now in this greying life you comb your greying hair wash your greying body get into bed turn off the light and its only in the dark here that you can dream again in colour. Imagine this, there’s no going back to bed there’s nowhere to hide anymore all those dreams of colour are written on your body you have no disguises left all the lives you thought you wanted, you leave behind instead. you are naked and if your longing could speak in this moment it would tell you about the midnight walk the barefoot on the pavement the knocking on the strangers door with your handful of hope and your resolve to never look back. And now, this is indulging, imagine yourself in someone else’s brain. you are free there you are a fantasy you smell of lavender and you are the kindest thing. what is it to unlock the door of someone else’s heart only to find yourself inside? and when I think of someone else, I don’t think of him the man in my bed the one who sits at my table the one who holds my hand the one who asked me how old I was when I learned to swim? Imagine this, he asks me instead how old I was when I learned not to drown?
