I turned up at the hall with my shoes, jeans, shirt and a guitar. That was enough. Hot shower, cheap food, libraries with nooks and books and a nudge to learn how to think, not what to think.
The guitar came when the goodbye came. She walked away with my smile. Goodbye to the square and sweet smell of grass. Goodbye to the freedom. Sad hello to the toil and the rules and the bedsit gruel. The guitar came and the songs went down. On cassette by the bed.
It came to the sea and it filled the last space in the room with the sink and the synth and the flatmate who said this is not living.
It came back to the town and the songs went down still despite the dismay.
She left with what was left of my smile. I hoped she wouldn’t. The guitar knew different. It sung of the way before it was crossed. It wept from the strings before they were lost.
It came to the sea in the car on the moor towards the cloud hiding the sun.
A friend in my bed play my tune it said in the moor and know you are done.