c a p e / t o w n / i n / p a r t s
15.
driving to the airport, we listen to your hangover playlist. havenât had any wine but it feels like a hangover just the same. minutes slipping away into the future. past your university, past the ocean. the sunlight streaming through the windows; thin, sharp blades of light, shaping a rainbow right in front of us. it is june. i miss you before iâm even gone.
14.
we scrape our knees on the rocks. try to see through the dust and the dark, lighting up the path with a shaking flashlight beam. itâs 5.51 in the morning â feels like the middle of the night. weâre tense with adrenaline and excitement. the way up is steep, the way down steeper. donât look. weâre almost there. you, me and roxy. the bravest dog in the world. we walk her across ledges, pull her up the rocks. we shiver. wipe our dirty hands on our sleeves. there it is. the top. the sun. the morning. we eat sandwiches with cheese and jam. you are pretty in all of this light.
13.
you are like your mother, and i am like mine. we will speak about this until the day we figure it all out, which will never be, which is why we speak about it in the first place. there are so many places to be from, places to go to. minutes slipping away into the future. we sit in quiet cafés and talk about language. we talk about language, talk, talk, talk.
12.
today, your brother turns twenty-one. it is june. in the morning, we give him his presents â climbing gear and ropes â and then we go up yet another mountain. your mother goes with us. Â
11.
tomorrow, your brother turns twenty-one. we are at the most beautiful restaurant in all of the city. i tell you, this is where i want to get married. weâre all dressed up, but we spent the afternoon in the sun, on the rocks. there is always another cliff to look down from. another lighthouse to find. driving to the coast, we listened to your classics playlist and i told you the whole story; christmas tree all the way to the break up. iâm quiet at the end and you tell me, you can say goodbye to her on the edge of the african continent.
10.
you tell me about someone you were in love with once. the end makes me quiet.
9.
you are like your grandmother, and i am like mine. when we drive her to the hospital for her annual check-up, your grandmother tells the doctor, I need this pacemaker to work until my granddaughterâs wedding. the future belongs to those who can see it. after the appointment, we eat lunch in a quiet cafĂ© and laugh when she tells us.
8.
we walk the halls of the museum and talk. there are structures here that exist outside of art in much more complex ways, and those are the ones we are interested in, the ones we want to talk about. i take a picture of you looking at a piece about memory. you look pretty against the background light.
7.
thin, sharp, tiny sting of pain. we get matching helix piercings at a busy shop in the middle of town, and we revel in the sensitivity of it afterwards.
6.
the sun lights up the entire botanic garden. we lie on our backs in the grass, eating bites of salad, breaking blocks of chocolate. we talk about old people and memory. we talk about what sort of weddings we want.
5.
you are like your dad, and i am like mine. we play scrabble after dinner and all of us want to win. we go out onto the field and all of us want to win. we drive and drive and drive. we talk politics and feminism and law and climbing technique. we talk about language. about everything.
4.
waking up early; we want to hike a mountain. weâre both sweating by the time we make it to the top. sunlight streaming through the trees. the waterfall is shaping a rainbow in front of us. we find a place to eat ice cream, drive home, talk about the things that scare us. the sting and sensitivity of it. we lie on our backs on the flat side of your roof. i am thinking you look pretty against the light.
3.
tense with adrenaline and excitement. we ride along the beach. first time i have ever even been on a horse, but you teach me well. tell me off when iâm holding the reins wrong. push me to go faster. we ride along the beach and i only got here three days ago, but the world is so much wider, so much lighter, so much higher. 6017 miles away from home. you laugh and show me how itâs done. Â
2.
weâre on beaches, and in cafĂ©s, and on your roof, and every single question you ask me is a smart one. missed you so goddamn fucking much.
1.
i wake up in your bed. the trees are low and the sun is warm. downstairs, we make tea and cut fruit. sit down in the garden with your dogs. today is day one. we can go anywhere we want. we can go climbing, be braver than we are. Â
0.
it is may. both of us are scared of heights. you run towards me through the airport and i feel drunk on seeing you again. Â
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