After the Night at Your Apartment

Written by Harley, one of our music writers, and edited by Shraddha, one of our editors!

For Dalton

I wanted to wash the glasses before I left—

it’s always been my way to say “I love you,” but perhaps that is ironic.

I am a writer & they usually have something more

eloquent but I am just in my head right now. I am writing to you with a mouthful of flowers. 

What is it that you hate? Humid heat. And what is it

that you love? The wind that brushes past me in the autumn. I imagine you love the flight of doves, the old women that sang when you walked past the corner store in London

or was it Italy? There’s a dream where you are sun kissed

in Greece. Every white girl I loved wanted their Mamma Mia summer there but their boyfriends are too poor,

too difficult. Too straight to get ABBA. Who the fuck doesn’t love “Dancing Queen?” 

But let me get back on track.

I drove January home that night and I wondered about the fleetingness of our night. The $9 fruit-flavored Sangria. The way we converted our friends to connoisseurs of cheese & and I hope that the black mold will be gone if I ever come

back. I remember it so fondly. Blue walls. The mental notes I took when I pried open your medicine cabinet.

Remember when I said I was writing to you with a mouthful of flowers? There are so few little words. When it was dawn, all the alliums, orchids, and poppies fell out. But when I think of you, my mouth isn’t so

bitter.

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This piece was written by one of our poetry columnists, Harley. Reach him at @ha.rleyn, on Instagram!

This piece was edited by one of our editors, Shraddha. Reach her at @shraddhagulati_ on Instagram!

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