oh shit. oh fuck. i’m listening to “folklore”
in my headphones, wondering
where you are. knowing you’re
listening to the same album (happily on
vinyl if the store had it already
& begrudgingly on your phone if that was
your only choice) as another person is
a comfort, a balm, a way to connect
with someone else in a far-off sonic realm
beyond the loud quiet of our everyday.
i am always looking for ways to feel
less lonely. we are all always looking
for ways to feel less lonely.
(enter: the “one” who might have
gotten away. enter: everyone
taking the time to read this.)
one of us normally messages the other
the week taylor releases a new album.
it’s like we’re clawing & scratching at
the entire earth, trying to find
something – anything – to hold us
together. taylor is the small piece of tape
quickly losing its adhesive qualities
as it tries to hold us to each other.
the (really cute) narrator
of this particular poem is
freakin’ out a bit because
she doesn’t know what’s going on.
should she message him? has their
tradition come to an end, so suddenly?
there’s nothing now – not even
an imaginary paperclip – to
fasten their hearts like buttons
over the foundation of
weirdly flirty friendship
they built all the way back
in college. the walls were
made of valentine’s day candy
instead of brick, but that was
the popular architectural style
those days. just google it.
if taylor had announced “folklore” earlier,
maybe the narrator & her friend would
have already messaged each other by now.
maybe the narrator & her friend
would have already been married
for fifty years by now,
she just wants to
listen to sad songs
by taylor swift
& pretend you
still think about her
(please try to still
think about her