Do you know those?
Have you ever seen um...those?
Pocket warmer...things?
Do you know what? A pocket warmer? Is?
It’s a...It’s uh...
Its this...thing
Fiilled with some kind of substance.
Some kind of chemical substance.
You get them in the winter
to keep you warm.
They fit...
In the palm of your hand.
---
He had a thing about hearts. Heart shaped things. So I gave him a box full of heart shaped things for valentines day, a heart shaped holiday. I spent a whole afternoon making that box. Sat in a cafe’ writing literary quotes about hearts on the back of postcards with images of hearts on the picture side. There was silvery glittery confetti, confetti hearts all along the side.
When I gave it to him. I watched him open it gingerly. revealing all these hearts i had assembled for him. He seemed....mystified. Maybe my gesture was too much? I felt embarrassed, silly, childish. He said
“Thank you”
sincerely enough. But he had to admit that maybe i’d taken this heart thing too far... The one thing he did like in the box, was this pocket warmer...heart shaped... He was really excited about it. He liked to keep it with him, in the cold. Do you know what a pocket warmer is? Have you seen one before? You put it in your pocket when its cold, to keep your hands warm. to keep you warm. The one I gave him was heart shaped.
Do you know how they work? Ok well, the first time is kind of magical. There’s this little metal disc inside. When you press on it, it starts a reaction. A reaction that spreads through the substance inside. It literally courses with energy. It makes it warm. And it stays like this for hours... Until it cools, and then the substance hardens.
And it isn’t warm anymore...
After that you can use it again. It will work again. But its different, its not so easy. It’s a little more complicated. You can’t just press on that little metal disc and wait for a reaction. You have to heat the thing, slowly, in a saucepan of bowling water, until its warm enough, to take out into the cold. I didn’t know this when i gave it to him... I thought you could always press on that little silver disc in the center. I didn’t know that kind of magic only happened once.
-----
Last night he came to see me. It was raining. I saw him arrive through frosted glass. I had a gig that evening. I was talking to the host. She was asking me about myself. About what I did. What did i want people to know, about me?
I am not a good person
“Oh um say....”
I am afraid
“I’m from a lot of places”
I hurt people
“I have an album coming out..”
I hurt people I love
“Its free, you can download it for free”
I hurt people who love me.
“Call it postmodern cabaret...Excuse me.”
I go to him. He’s wearing his favourite coat. It’s silver. There’s a pocket over the chest. He puts my hand there. It’s warm. I try to make light of it.
“You’re like the postmodern tin man”
I try to pull my hand back, but he holds it there, opens the pocket, hands me... this heart. this heart shaped thing. the pocket warmer.
I know where this is going. I’m a poet. I don’t want all this symbolism. Don’t give this to me. please. Please don’t-
He’s pressing it into my hand and looking at me. It’s heart-breaking. Right now I even hate the word heart-breaking. How can a word so painful be as cliche’d as overused as that. Heart...breaking...
He’s asking me if I have any pockets. I panic.
“No, no no, I don’t. I’m- I”m wearing a dress. I’m wearing a dress. I don’t have-”
“Your coat?” He says. I’m shaking my head.
“ I-have-no-pockets.” I say (with my hands thrust firmly inside them)
I want to scream. Because I know what will happen. He will put it in my pocket and it will be warm for hours. And later it will cool and harden into some horrible crumpled shape. I will look at it crumpled and hard in my hand. i will look at it and think of him giving it to me, of it being his and think. this is my fault. he gave it to me and this is what i did.
And this will happen after we’ve left.
After I’ve begged again and again for him to let me go until I can’t say it anymore. Until i can just about make out the word please. Until i let my eyes beg instead. Don’t give this to me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want to hold onto it. You should keep it to yourself.
It’s all so sillly.. Its only a pocket warmer? But he made it symbolic, romantic.. when romance becomes dirtier than that other four letter word: love.
When I find it again (in my bag now, long since moved from the pocket of my coat) I am outside london bridge train station, smoking. I find it, cold and hardened. Above me a flower bed hangs. A droplet of condensation, cold and wet, lands on my face, slides down my cheek, resembles how it feels. It’s fitting because though I feel like I want to, I am unable to cry.
Do you know.. um.. Have you ever seen those pocket warmer things? You get them in the winter to keep you warm.
Have you ever seen um...those?
Pocket warmer...things?
Do you know what? A pocket warmer? Is?
It’s a...It’s uh...
Its this...thing
Fiilled with some kind of substance.
Some kind of chemical substance.
You get them in the winter
to keep you warm.
They fit...
In the palm of your hand.
---
He had a thing about hearts. Heart shaped things. So I gave him a box full of heart shaped things for valentines day, a heart shaped holiday. I spent a whole afternoon making that box. Sat in a cafe’ writing literary quotes about hearts on the back of postcards with images of hearts on the picture side. There was silvery glittery confetti, confetti hearts all along the side.
When I gave it to him. I watched him open it gingerly. revealing all these hearts i had assembled for him. He seemed....mystified. Maybe my gesture was too much? I felt embarrassed, silly, childish. He said
“Thank you”
sincerely enough. But he had to admit that maybe i’d taken this heart thing too far... The one thing he did like in the box, was this pocket warmer...heart shaped... He was really excited about it. He liked to keep it with him, in the cold. Do you know what a pocket warmer is? Have you seen one before? You put it in your pocket when its cold, to keep your hands warm. to keep you warm. The one I gave him was heart shaped.
Do you know how they work? Ok well, the first time is kind of magical. There’s this little metal disc inside. When you press on it, it starts a reaction. A reaction that spreads through the substance inside. It literally courses with energy. It makes it warm. And it stays like this for hours... Until it cools, and then the substance hardens.
And it isn’t warm anymore...
After that you can use it again. It will work again. But its different, its not so easy. It’s a little more complicated. You can’t just press on that little metal disc and wait for a reaction. You have to heat the thing, slowly, in a saucepan of bowling water, until its warm enough, to take out into the cold. I didn’t know this when i gave it to him... I thought you could always press on that little silver disc in the center. I didn’t know that kind of magic only happened once.
-----
Last night he came to see me. It was raining. I saw him arrive through frosted glass. I had a gig that evening. I was talking to the host. She was asking me about myself. About what I did. What did i want people to know, about me?
I am not a good person
“Oh um say....”
I am afraid
“I’m from a lot of places”
I hurt people
“I have an album coming out..”
I hurt people I love
“Its free, you can download it for free”
I hurt people who love me.
“Call it postmodern cabaret...Excuse me.”
I go to him. He’s wearing his favourite coat. It’s silver. There’s a pocket over the chest. He puts my hand there. It’s warm. I try to make light of it.
“You’re like the postmodern tin man”
I try to pull my hand back, but he holds it there, opens the pocket, hands me... this heart. this heart shaped thing. the pocket warmer.
I know where this is going. I’m a poet. I don’t want all this symbolism. Don’t give this to me. please. Please don’t-
He’s pressing it into my hand and looking at me. It’s heart-breaking. Right now I even hate the word heart-breaking. How can a word so painful be as cliche’d as overused as that. Heart...breaking...
He’s asking me if I have any pockets. I panic.
“No, no no, I don’t. I’m- I”m wearing a dress. I’m wearing a dress. I don’t have-”
“Your coat?” He says. I’m shaking my head.
“ I-have-no-pockets.” I say (with my hands thrust firmly inside them)
I want to scream. Because I know what will happen. He will put it in my pocket and it will be warm for hours. And later it will cool and harden into some horrible crumpled shape. I will look at it crumpled and hard in my hand. i will look at it and think of him giving it to me, of it being his and think. this is my fault. he gave it to me and this is what i did.
And this will happen after we’ve left.
After I’ve begged again and again for him to let me go until I can’t say it anymore. Until i can just about make out the word please. Until i let my eyes beg instead. Don’t give this to me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want to hold onto it. You should keep it to yourself.
It’s all so sillly.. Its only a pocket warmer? But he made it symbolic, romantic.. when romance becomes dirtier than that other four letter word: love.
When I find it again (in my bag now, long since moved from the pocket of my coat) I am outside london bridge train station, smoking. I find it, cold and hardened. Above me a flower bed hangs. A droplet of condensation, cold and wet, lands on my face, slides down my cheek, resembles how it feels. It’s fitting because though I feel like I want to, I am unable to cry.
Do you know.. um.. Have you ever seen those pocket warmer things? You get them in the winter to keep you warm.
They fit... in your palm
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