“I don’t need you to see a pattern.”

(because you were in town, and I’d seen you in front of the karaoke bar where there’s always a 10-year-old singing There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, and though I’d half-commited to hiding from you/pretending I hadn’t seen you, you definitely saw me)

“Just circles basically isn’t it.”

(because your name still comes up first every time I type its first letter into my search bar, before even Hadrian’s Wall or Home Depot)

“Well, no, it isn’t, but yeah I don’t need you to-”

(because I work nights mainly and after midnight you start to think about everything differently, like the past is no longer something behind you, and the future no longer something away in the distance ahead, but everything’s all around you constantly, constantly happening to you and flowing around you like that stupid river in the analogy)

“I think it’s tedious that we like have to see pattern in everything- patterns are human, they’re design, they’re-”

(because you can in fact step in the same river twice, obviously, you know because your legs are wet)

“Why are you doing this?”

(because I’d genuinely, genuinely, genuinely gotten used to the idea of never seeing you again)

“I’ll fuck off then.”

(because the last time made my head swim like waking up from anaesthetic)

“No, please, sorry. We won’t talk about them.”

(because I remember the time before this time, the last time we sat on this beach and watched the starlings dipping like a sketch of black over the sea, the time when I was still tasting your kisses on the inside of my cheeks and I felt unwashed, and oozy, and wanted to ooze my way under your clothes and stay there, and my heart was dipping like-)

“I like what you’ve done with your- you look nice. You look great.”

(because that time, that last time, we’d been up till sunrise, then we pushed through the day in bed, and we’d said a lot of sunrise-y things, and as the day tired, we wandered down to this beach and watched them dipping over the sea like rain and we’d said we’d said we’d said)

“Why Paris.”

(because sitting on this beach with you and watching the cloud of wings and beaks as the sky turned to cigarette smoke I thought I hope no one ever finds us, I hope we stay locked just like this like fossils, that our histories are just this moment, and that I have the the the vim, the what-it-takes, to make you stay here next to me watching these birds)

“It’s a job scheme thing. And I like how wide the roads are. Ha ha.”

(because in the end, I didn’t)

“I think it’ll suit you.”

(because I hate my fucking job so much and it makes my fingernails smell of egg)

“Thank you. It- yeah, thanks.”

(because when you touched my hair it made me feel like I’d never actually had hair before, and when you climbed on top of me it made me aware of all the previously empty hollows my body had)

“I’m still at the restaurant and it’s still shit, thanks so much.”

(because even in spite of that you went)

“I’m sorry mate.”

(because no one knows why starlings do that thing, the thing where they form a big cloud over the water at dusk, why they come together, and whirl around, and make all these shapes, and then fuck off)

“You only call people you’ve just met ‘mate’, don’t ‘mate’ me.”

(because of course there was a time before that, with no starlings, just stars, and midnight, and we were drunk as fuck and listened to the water)

“I’ve said I can go-“

(because you put your hand in mine)

“Did you want to actually say anything? To me? Really?”

(because you looked at me and smiled with the moon making a broadsheet of your face)

“I just wanted to tell you where I was going, I guess.”

(because you were very, very attractive and life is so miserable)

“Well you’ve done that. I’m being a dick.”

(because your hand was in mine and the moon was making you waxy and the water was saying ‘ahhhhh’)

“It’s fine”

(because one of us will really regret this one day)

“Why did you-”

(because no one knows why starlings do that but they do)

“You’ll be ok, I think. You’ll- um- you’ll be great.”

(because of warmth or information or God, but they do, and it looks great)

“Bye.”

(because my hands smell and I hate my job but I’ll be fine and it looks great)

“Bye.”

(because something makes them, they do it, and it looks great)

“There is a pattern.”