a.n: never written anything like this... never written first person. i don't much like it. you don't have to comment to be polite.
I wanted to write. I wanted to write about you. My diary sat blank upon the table and I remembered you were born in the eighties (because it is of course the logical thing to think about). You don't remind me of big hair nor leather nor Meatloaf. Bat out of hell was my favourite song (I don’t suppose I don’t you…) as a prepubescent boy. Symbolic? I doubt it but nevertheless I found myself digging amongst long since abandoned CD cases and emerging triumphant (and slightly embarrassed by being so) with a copy of Heaven and Hell – Meatloaf and Bonnie Tyler.
Bat out of hell doesn’t remind me of you at all. No, instead I sit with my ink dribbling over the page in little anarchy A’s and Pink Floyd Rox shapes and smiling till my ears bruise. Bat out of hell is for me, not you.
It’s funny though. Bonnie’s voice is so outdated and strong but instantly as the first line belts out my ears prick up. And of course the telltale lines of turn around, bright eyes delivers me a vision of the first time you shot your blue blue gaze at me. Bastard. Blue eyed, puppy faced, smooth skinned, strawberry kiss bastard at that.
I’m quite shamefully lost in the song.
My page is left empty bar the words, over and over again: now there’s only love in the dark. Symbolic? Now I need to wonder.
I can’t help skip it back to Bat out of hell and smile again. Thinking too hard is your attribute, not mine.