a brand new power (clanger) wrote in othersnostalgia,
a brand new power

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You could see me reaching,
Why couldn't you have met me halfway?
You could see me bleeding,
But you could not put pressure on the wound.
you only think about yourself
you only think about yourself
you better bend before i go, on the first train to Mexico

You could see me breathing
but you still put your hand over my mouth.
your could see me seething
but you still turned your nose up in the air.
you only think about yourself
you only think about yourself
you better bend before i go, on the first train to Mexico.

I knew Berti for only two weeks, in a summer a couple of years ago. He was a year older than me, 14. Despite being quite young, Berti was one of the most influentual persons i have ever met in my life.
His dad had left him as a baby, and he had been brought up by his mother who was depressed and had never really recovered from berti's father leaving her. He was the general teenager, he was into cannabis and it showed, his speech and ideas had that same insanity to them as one who had either been smoking too much or for too long. In this way however, i found him amazing, his ideas and views and general lust for life made me stand in awe.
It wasn't all happy though. when i knew him he got the news that his father was dead. it had been his plan throughout life to go to mexico and find his dad again and with these hopes lost, he became very distant and unhappy.
Small things he did showed that he was completely obsessed with this dream of mexico, like he would collect the golden virginia packets written in spanish which had the "smoking while pregnant will harm your baby" health warning on them, because it would have the word bambino on them, apparently one of the only memories of his father was him calling him bambino when he was little.
At night he would play guitar for us, and because he hated singing at the same time as playing, i used to be his voice. We would get through a few tunes, oasis wonderwall being one of them, and another incubus one. But he would always play mexico, because it reminded him of his father. i felt intruding singing this one, so instead i let him take out his hurt on the guitar without any words.
When i came back home, and went to canada a few days afterwards, i played mexico constantly to remind myself of those nights and days under the stars. Even now when i play it i remember his eyes focused on the guitar, his hair moving slightly in the wind and to the movement of his arm, lit up against the firelight. i remember his t shirts and the way he would pace around with excitement.

I saw him again last year at a pub. he had cut his hair and he was so drunk his eyes weren't focusing. No more cherub.
I miss nights like that, his playing drifting me to sleep, his face deep in thought. i miss the way he talked.
maybe ill see him again, maybe i wont. he probably wont be the same, and i'll miss him even when he stands in front of me.
i wonder how he is now. i think i would just like to know.
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