Flowers screeching yellow up towards the sun. The bus exhaling its people into clouds of crowds and dreamily droning on. I loved you like anesthesia, blurring away all the pain that everything else was making me feel. Your arm around me was a nerve block, dropping a curtain between myself and the cold and real.
The old house with the cabinets that pressed down towards your head like a crushing and clouded sky. Bookshelves buried in the peeling walls like ticks, corners clotted with flies.
You might not know it, but I loved you. I could never say it, but I loved you. Oh, long ago, I loved you.
Wooden pillars around every doorway like this living room was a living temple. In the warm light of your kitchen I struggled to make myself simple. I loved you like a lizard that lets the predator bite off and swallow its writhing tail. Giving you my twitching decoy, just enough to save myself but make it seem real.
Gray days, late fall, we'd taken for granted the leaves that whispered and swayed across the kitchen window, and when in a windstorm they suddenly fell away, the light startled with its purity, startled like it was the first light that we'd ever seen. Surprised us both with its bleakness and beauty, glassy and shining and clean.
You might not know it, but I loved you. I could never say it, but I loved you.
Held your smile under my tongue like a blotter of acid, I loved you.
Held your name in my pocket like the foot of a rabbit, I loved you.
Oh, long ago, I loved you.
Dreamy, intricate guitar pop from Oakland's Absent City; splashes of accordion, sitar, lap steel, and mandolin add textural richness. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 26, 2020
These tracks are straightforward and concise, never relying on gauzy metaphors to complicate her declarations of love. Bandcamp Album of the Day Dec 20, 2017