Naomi’s birthday. Sixteen (since when?!). In the Venue, seven o’clock. We got there just past eight, alternately pushing past high school hipsters and cuddly couples to stand at the edge of the stairs, where we could be a good head taller than anybody else and close enough to catch his eye. I’d forgotten this, concerts. The calculated slap-dash of the venue, the muddied lights, the music. The way it gets up into your bones like spring rain on the East Coast. How sometimes you hear words you remember your heart beating. That rush of city air after the second encore, the moment you walk out into the world again feeling like you just might get it right this time.
you looked right through me/there was no one else / sat beside you and became myself