I can’t live without writing, without words on a page, books to read and magazines to flick through. Who goes thru a day without reading a word?
I can’t live without air, obviously. I can’t live without life.
I can’t live without looking at the lines on my hands and knowing what they mean and where they come from.
I can’t live without nicotine, really? I’d like to take that back; I can’t live without addiction, I’ve an addictive personality. I can’t live without a fascination from one day to another.
What about imagination? I can’t live without that, without the ability to float off into a distant planet, to engage my thought in something so unreal but totally real inside me. I can wonder for hours in a dream of anything, really, anything man, I can imagine it all.
I can’t live without memories, of good times and bad. Of those days with my family on the beach in Cornwall, running from the waves and catching lobster for tea. I can’t live without the memories of you being on drugs, me being on drugs and you trying to kill me. The memories of different men, at different times, watching you walk away from my balcony, hearing you say I’m lying when I wasn’t, seeing the look on your face when I finally gave up.
All these memories are me, are who I am today. Imagine living without any of your past. I can’t live without my past, and my luggage.
I can’t live without sunglasses, my eyes need a shield. After all the things those eyes have seen, the sun burns straight through them.
I can’t live without the things that make me who I am.
I can’t live without the thought that I’m going to be better.
I can’t live without a roof over my head and a lock on the door, without something to live for.
I can’t live without my womanhood; I could never be a man. I can’t live without my sexuality and passion and urge...my urge...my itch...my bitten lip.
And then of course, there’s music. There is no question there, no contest, no second guesses. I’m not talking about constantly listening to my iPod, wherever I go with that fizz tizz shit pouring out of my ears for others to hear. I mean the music of life. The melodies I grew up with in the back of my mind, the sound of the central heating back home, the whirring of the radiators. The rhythm of the cars drawing deep breaths past my door. Those trains on the track outside that flat. Remember? The rhythm that flooded into my tears every night that I lived there, every three minutes.
The rhythm of life. And the beat that goes with it.
The songs that you remember from many years ago, and they bring out a smell and a feeling and a punch from the past.
The song that you used to play on repeat every single night because you were in love with a boy, that song makes you cringe every time you hear it. And smile, of course.
Now I cannot live without a smile. That’s cheesy I know, but a smile from a stranger is worth a million words. A smile from a loved one is priceless. And smiling, on your own, when only you know what you’re smiling about, might seem a little crazy. I can’t live without crazy.
Crazy makes living interesting.