You know, I mentioned you twice during this challenge. You? Who is “you”? “You” is Jamie in this case. Jamie who fought leukemia, Jamie who was my best friend. Jamie passed away in 2015, newlywed and barely 33. Jamie who was accused of having catfished an entire community. Jamie, who was my best friend. Who found a way through all of my walls and barriers – easily. Was Jamie real? I don’t care. Some say he was a woman who pretended to be his cousin. I really do not care. Jamie was my confidante. I told him everything, and he shared a lot about himself too. Jamie was a young gay man from Manchester. He loved indie music and Kylie and Erasure and Adam Lambert, and Pink Floyd and Todd Rundgren, and the song I share below. I shared a Velvet Revolver song recently, I shared it with Jamie in mind too. How many times did we watch that clip and comment on Scott Weiland’s very low slung leather pants?! How many times did be send pics of Garrett Neff, because he was his idol?! Jamie was a male model too and he married his on-off relation – Rico, from Barcelona not even a year before he passed away. Jamie had a soundcloud account because he loved to share the music he loved, and he also published a book about his experience as a male model. Jamie was unique. He was talented. Had a beautiful soul. He was my friend. And fuck, I miss Jamie every day. And in the end, I don’t even care if Jamie was really his cousin or if Jamie was real. He was like a brother to me. I wish he were still here. Jamie died in July 2015. Too young to die old.
I never met anyone like you again. Covered in a velvet veil, your very soul was revealed. It was a view to swallow and conserve away from the vastness of my mind. After all these years, you still visit me in my memories.
This test we failed was the best thing that happened to us, or was it? Time will tell if we will ever get rid of the toxins that are taking over our hearts. Let’s take the taboos we shared and wrap them into towels. We could throw them into the bin or hide them in the nearest town. We could try to trust again and taste every touch of our souls. Thank you. 💜
My soul is burning as it is slithering through the silver soil. Slivers of seas, buried in salt. And the sun is the winter’s sub, waiting for the right order. My soul is burning, slipping silently into the skin of the oppressed. Subjective submissives. Tell me what I need to do to be less sad.
I write about the romantic remnants of our relationship, about the red roses and their thorns grazing my skin. Do you remember the reasons why we retreated in different directions? The rest of our lives as a couple was cut relatively short. But, rest assured, I’ll stay reasonable. I’ll remain silent. I read your writings on rivaling social media channels, and I try running away from the new you. But I can’t. I am restless without you. You are my rock, my room to breathe, my favourite record of them all. In retrospect, I don’t have any regrets or resentments. What we had was real and right. And yet, we can never redo what we carelessly turned into rubble and debris. And what remains at the end of the day are the memories, the colourful dreams, and the knowledge that nothing ever was as it seemed. Rented emotions on a river’s bank. We were trying to swim but drowning in responsibilities and realities.
Red Room Cinema – apsis III: we raise our eyes between walls of glass and steel