Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Du Temps Perdu
Once, when I was barely 20, I had an intense relationship with a raver. I had first seen him at a distance as I was applying for admission to the Queensland College of Art. He was tall with a beautiful face and thick, straight, shoulder-length hair. When we were finally introduced, two years later, we fell for each other. For a while, we were inseparable. We ate, slept, showered, and partied together. We got high together and came down together and we fucked for hours to forget how we felt. We went to the toilet together, one leaning against the door, giggling and talking. We shared our dreams and fantasies in drug-induced hazes, him playing Verlaine to my neurotic Rimbeau. I remembered what we spoke about – although, often, he didn’t. I thought I was deeply in love. When it ended, I cried for a year. Then I woke one morning and couldn’t remember why I had felt anything for him at all.