And again - Eli Osei

Inspired by a bunch of conversations with a bunch of cool people. Thanks.

And again:

Just before reaching the corner they turned and waved goodbye. The ocean’s power lies not in the togetherness of its waters.

Their love, like any, began a ballad. I find ballads to be tacky. And yet even the inelegant nature of infant infatuation could not deter our lovebirds. For lovebirds view the world through rose-tinted glasses: red flags are grey or maybe grey flags are red– I often confuse my clichés. But lovebirds also fly. The sky was their oyster, the world was their sky. Days, weeks. months, years went by. When seemingly defying the laws of gravity not much else feels relevant, not much else holds weight. The earth and its problems seem smaller from above the trees.

“Squa Squawk,” he would say.

This never failed to move her.

I possess a deep sense of hatred for the Warner brothers. If I were to make a list of famous brothers whose surnames began with ‘W’, ranked from worst to best: those manipulative, multi-millionaire, movie-making men would feature second. Bested only by the Wright brothers, the plane-pioneers. Birds hate planes. The airplane aviators. Our lovebirds hated planes. The jet jesters.


Limbo’s a lonely place for a lover.

Next, they were the world’s scum. Incorrectly referred to as ‘the chosen species’. Next, they were us. In this life, a ballad would not suffice. They were into act two of the concerto. Some live and die having not changed, some never live. This next life of theirs could be replaced with a thousand others and yet you would never be able to see what they saw, achieve what they achieved, feel what they felt. Lover’s infiniteness. No house is made to stand forever. Walls crack, foundations collapse. One day they look like all you ever asked for. The next, the next day is the next and the day after is the day after. Days stop to feel like days, life stops to feel li-

I could go on but they did not, I could go on.


Limbo’s a lonely place for a lover.

Today the sky is grey. Their most recent life has been full of days like this one. Now waves, they have ample time to think.

Him: Yesterday is tomorrow and today is yesterday and last week is a million years from now because none of it really matters. All of time is happening right now, in this very moment. I am both dead and alive. Fish! I am both lost and found. Big fish! The passing of time is an illusion. Or maybe it’s not, or maybe it is, or maybe it’s not. I suppose it’s just easier to think this way. I guess it makes everything less important but more special. But who knows? I’m just a wave. Red fish, blue fish, one fish, two fish.

Her: I’ve been seeing things. Memories. Memories that can’t possibly be mine. Memories that feel so familiar. They’re about him, only he’s not him and I’m not me. Only we’re not rolling towards an inevitable separation, we’re bound to each other. Bound and happy. In one of them he and I are two leaves on a clover, swaying in the wind. We dance at day and star-gaze at night. One day a round child began to approach us and I told him that I was scared. He said that nothing cou-


The memory’s started to fade, a lot fades these days. I never believed in the end of the world. The world’s end, maybe. But a single point in time and space, a corner, that separates life and death, me and him, the beginning and the end, seems infeasible to me. And yet here I am, I just wish we got t-

Today the sky is grey.