Before I met him, I would dance in the shower.
When he was in my life, I would think about showering with him.
After he left, I would sit on the ground in the shower and cry.
When I got over him, I showered so quickly there was no time for dancing, fantasies or tears.
Someone can invade the smallest parts of your life,
you won’t even realize it until you dance in the shower again
and wonder why you ever stopped.
I want to forget everything you told me. I want to wash away how uncertain you made me. How scared I was of losing you. How I lost you anyway. I don’t want to know how your hands feel or what makes you smile. I don’t want to see you in photos, familiar like a dream I had once or a book I never finished. I don’t want to speak about you in snippets or think about how I behaved. Or know that I still think about it. Or know that you’re not just a lamp or a blade of grass, indistinguishable from the rest.
"My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since, well, before any kiss. And now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back. The notion of them continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites me to an unfamiliar degree."
—Alex Turner to Alexa Chung