I
Always remember things.
That way, you know: It’s moments.
II
Ness Boy walked back through that forest,
with the walk of someone who was lost,
and shared glances with the ghosts of him,
walking the other way.
They were crowned with browning leaves,
from when winter turned to summer.
Like the trees outside my window,
they went and changed their colour.
So Ness Boy had remembered that little pond,
where storm had left him all alone.
He remembered that path through trees, where we
went when we din’t want to go home.
And that bench, that view of the mountains,
and how beautiful it is to climb,
From that bench, that view of the mountains,
he remembered all that wasted time.
And as he walked back through his years,
he felt just a little bit sad.
But there was a part of him which felt like smiling,
because now he understood.
III
At the edge of the forest,
my father’s car is waiting to take me home:
Home, where I’m no longer tired,
and the world is swept away,
your little garden getting brighter,
my life it’s brighter too.
Home where I can’t stop writing,
and the writer in me’s a spy.
Home where I need to revise,
but revising ain’t on my mind.
Home where mum ain’t here,
but that’s how it’s s’pose to be.
Home where she never were,
but that’s how it would always be.
Home where I got the best education.
Home where I came back late.
Home where I introduced you to my father.
Home where we played in the bath.
Home where I learned how to iron.
Home where you made the fire.
Home where you always were.
Home where you aren’t anymore.
Home where I swore I’d never leave,
when I laid in bed that night.
Home where you swore you’d never leave,
then you switched off your fairylights.
Home was where I ran from,
because I didn’t know who I was s’pose to be.
But home is where I am now,
because this exactly who I’m s’pose to be.
But now there’s water on the sunroof,
and the trees are rippling.
IV
I used to dream and cry a bit,
wishing all these things,
wishing I could hear from you just one more time,
wishing I didn’t just walk away when you invited me in.
And now it’s time to sleep,
and your skin’n breath ain’t there no more.
Those Dollhouse Mountains are smaller now.
I’m talking to myself again.
But even when the bad things happened,
and we fought our way around each-other,
and you were frightened of conflict,
and I broke our door, and almost my glasses,
when we ordered Chinese food and I never finished it,
and we wasted money in London and Liverpool,
and never ****** in that hotel in Blackpool,
even though now we’re just memories to each-other,
and that night may have really been the last time we ever gonna see each-other,
even though soon I’m leaving this city behind,
and even though our world is now just an old view,
there were stars.
Dear Ghostly Boy. 8
