manchester by Tasheal Gill
/
ILLUSTRATION BY: MATT HANNS SCHROETER
manchester
i saw manchester when i closed my eyes: velvet sofas, drowning bluffs, a sunset clouded by emotions.
i’m no stranger to stumbling down unfamiliar streets and daydreaming at midnight. it’s become a haven.
at 16, i was all knowing, no worship.
i studied god at the bottom of my glass and said my prayers between each panting breath. maybe i look back too often, i’m not sure.
we think about what once was perhaps too effortlessly.
i’ve discovered the ocean is a portal to your past.
most often, sea water.
the ocean is a relentless force of melodic waves and we get sucked in by its charming allure. we’re lucky if we don’t drown.
there’s a lighthouse there, by the manchester sea.
looking out at the shoreline it’s as though i’m standing in a roomful of loved ones and everyone’s forgotten about me.
i could feel the aching of your wounds when you fell on broken glass. we didn’t even know each other when that happened.
it was the same night you were taking a train to Leeds
drunk on Cava on the way to meet your friends to drink even more.
the train paused for an hour though, didn’t it? and in that time you made eyes with the girl in the compartment in front of you.
that’s when i learned the space between two people can be measured by the number of times they look at each other and feel nothing.
or perhaps, i’ve misremembered that.
the memory becomes blurry when i'm alone, and it’s raining out.
a sliver of a moon emerged from the sky
the night was beginning its earnest transition into darkness.
it’s easier to walk with your eyes closed, anyway.
Tasheal Gill is a film production student with a passion for storytelling through various artistic platforms. She is dedicated to uplifting BIPOC voices, and telling stories through a socially conscious lens. Follow her on Instagram (@tashealgill).
