Little boy, little boy, lost and blue

Alex Skyline. It was by noon on a cold day, under the rain, when I first spoke to this boy whose eyes lay upon the weirdness and vague happiness the city on fire could bring. Sparkles of joy and laughter blended with uncertainty. Whatever his eyes were reflecting--this is what I fell for. On the corner of Old Compton Street, he used to squeeze his eyes as if to cry, as people would pass by.
Bars of chocolate, spaghetti, Stella Artois, candies, and dreams. Stories, confusions, theories about the world. He offered me a white flower and white baking powder on the way to a nameless club somewhere near Old Street. In the end, our lives were saved by shots of tequila.
He fried me eggs, I cooked him pasta. I used to talk for long hours about my loneliness while washing the dishes. He listened. He was there.
Burger King was the spot. What if women were the rulers of the world? Talks about women and men, gays and lesbians, Arabs and Indians, western and eastern, idiots and people. People. We have something in common: we both love people. We love too much. Lovers and losers. This was the party we had to sell, and we were indeed walking banners of the party.
Sometimes we were like a couple of two old guys. We had lots of arguments. Strangeness. It's by the arguments we had, and the ability to forget about them--coz they never mattered anyway--that I say it was love. At least for me. I can say it still is.
I miss going to Hyde Park and "feeding birds", I miss the fun, the cooperation, the arguments, the pain, Christmas's day, our days at Trash Palace, and life we shared. We were beautiful and I hope we still are.




"Magpie, was it you who stole the wedding ring?
Or what other thieving bird would steal such hope away?
Magpie, i am lost among the hinterland,
caught among the bracken and the fern,
and the boys who have no name.

There's no name for us
But still We sing

And still we sing,
Little boy, little boy,
Lost and blue,
Listen now, let me tell you what to do,
You can run on, run along or home
Between the knees of her,
All among her bracken and her ferns,
And the boy will have a name.
And we will sing

And we will sing,
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told"
(Patrick Wolf)