How could I help but listen to the alien?
To close my eyes and hear those songs, melodies that gripped some part of me and swept it up through the cool sky, through filaments of cloud, the haze of the atmosphere, filling my head with the scent of geraniums.
Through a comet’s tail, showered with the ingredients of the stars, until fragments of the universe snagged in my hair, shimmering over my skin – ripples in a storm of ice.
Other times, his melodies would burrow deep inside me, excavate my heart with a tumble of his voice, cause a pain so bone deep I was hollowed and fragile, frightened and thrilled I might shatter.
They told me today he’d gone home. I’d hoped he’d be able to stay, but everything in life, it seems, is borrowed.
I close my eyes, let the city’s heartbeat melt away. I hear him – that voice, that sweet, sad voice from another world.
And I realise.
He left a little of his world with me and when I need him, all I have to do is close my eyes.
Desperately sad to hear the news of David Bowie’s death today. This is the song I was thinking of as I wrote. A sweet, sad, aching rendition and a song so important to me when I was thirteen – I nearly played the grooves out of the vinyl.