I am not the only island, there are a few others living here. Every Thursday I see the same man walk to the bus stop in a duffle coat and West Ham scarf, and return 2 hours later struggling with recycled grocery bags. Perhaps I am the only one that sees him, hiding in plain sight. It’s not really the same, because I know isolation is not his choice. He was only a person in relation to his wife, and now she is gone he no longer sees himself reflected in her eyes, the only tangible evidence he had of his own existence.
If I am defined by my reflection in the eyes of others then I should be nothing. But I see myself reflected in every window, every painting, every song, every book… what narcissism! There was a period in my late teens I would listen to The Smiths every day. The singer was the king of the narcissists, but sang such beautiful words, “This night has opened my eyes and I will never sleep again.” And then there was Ben Watt’s North Marine Drive, fragile bedroom things written by a maudlin teenage boy with his life to come, listened to by a self obsessed teenage girl with her life waiting to happen.
Where’s your sense of humour girl?
You and me J, only hearing the music, speaking to me again now through the tape hiss of time.
