A SAD STORY INVOLVING THE COCTEAU TWINS AND FOUR PLANE RIDES.

On the flight from Paris to Berlin, I made a decision. No wait, let's back up.

On the flight from Toronto to Paris, I did some serious thinking. No wait, let's back up some more.

Between my trips to San Jose and Berlin, I listened to the Cocteau Twins "Twinlights" e.p. quite a bit. It's acoustic, it's gorgeous, I think I've written about it before. It's short, it's only thirteen minutes long. As with all the finest music releases, my favourite song kept changing, according to the day and my mood.

"Twinlights" was the first thing I packed for my trip to Berlin. The other musical themes of the trip were mainly German (and Austrian) artists, but make no mistake, "Twinlights" was the CD I wouldn't leave home without. I'd bought it at the revered San Francisco Amoeba, on a Bay Area trip I'd made to see her. No, not to see Amoeba, to see her. The fact that I was with her when I bought the CD was immaterial, I didn't associate it with her at the time. That came later, once I started listening carefully to the lyrics.

On the flight from Toronto to Paris, I did some serious thinking. It was a seven hour flight, but when I was in the mood for music, it was mainly "Twinlights". I think I snuck in Sigur Ros and the Round One to Round Five compilation too, but I can't remember for certain. I remember a young girl of about eight talking my ear off when I was trying to get some sleep and listen to "Twinlights". Anyhow, when I wasn't unexplainedly transifxed by the flight map playing on the video screen of the seat in from of me and the flight staff weren't catering to my every whim, I did manage to get some good listening done. And some thinking. This was an important trip. I missed her. And I was flying in the opposite direction from her.

On the flight from Paris to Berlin, I made a decision. I listened to "Twinlights" three times, and to the track "Half-Gifts" more times than that. Gently floating on air, I watched the sunny skies of France give way to the cloudier skies of Germany. Sitting in the very back row of the plane, I watched the endless clouds pass under the plane far below, and I felt very lonely. I was also nervous -- the Berlin trip was very important, and there was much to do in a limited time. Success would speed up the route to my degree significantly. Crucially, this meant I would have the chance to get out of Toronto and closer to her. Being away from her for this long was just too hard. It had been a month since I'd seen her. After Berlin, it would be perhaps another month, maybe more, until our schedules would allow us to get together again. This was unacceptable to me. The solemn beauty of "Half-Gifts" seemed to perfectly encompass this loneliness. Thus, my decision was to never allow us to be apart for this long ever again.

The fact that "Half-Gifts" is a breakup song left me uneasy, but determined to prove Liz Fraser wrong. "This relationship cannot sustain itself" was particularly unnerving. Bull -- I knew we could sustain it. The song was like a session with the ghost of Christmas Future. It showed me the horrors of what could happen, and made me more defiant that this would not happen.

On the flight from Toronto to Frankfurt, I did very little. The time passed quickly. I didn't listen to any music at all.

On the flight from Frankfurt to Berlin, I'd meant to listen to "Twinlights" to recapture the feeling from three months previous, but slept through almost the entire flight and never got around to it. I was more focused for this trip, even though the trip was twice as important, for I'd be staying for twice as long. After it was over, I'd have a reasonable chance at being Very Nearly Done. Thus, we'd be together soon. I was confident. I knew what needed to be done on this trip. Meanwhile, I'd brought the CD more as an afterthought, mainly as a reminder of the first trip.

A few days ago, I remembered to listen to "Twinlights" one night before bed. "Half-Gifts" moved me less than it had in July, through no fault of its own. I'd dealt with the song by this point. I wasn't scared of its negative message. I was a bit concerned that she'd been a little distant with me over the last month or so, as if things could get any more distant with the North American continent was between us. But hearing "Half Gifts" in my chilly Berlin apartment was uneasy relief. I could hear it, carefully consider it, and remain blissfully ignorant to it.

But perhaps I should have paid closer attention (to signs from her? to the signs in the song? who knows), because she called here about five hours ago and ended it. She'd had similar thoughts to the ones I'd had on that Paris-Berlin flight a few months ago. However, I'd resolved to try harder, whereas she appears to have resolved to stop trying.

I've still got this:

Half-Gifts

It's an old game, my love:
When you can't have me, you want me

Because you know that you're not risking anything

Intimacy is when we're in the same place
At the same time
Dealing honestly with how we feel
And who we really are
That's what grownups do
That is mature thinking

Well I'm still a junkie for it
It takes me out of my aloneness
But this relationship cannot sustain itself

Intimacy is when we're in the same place
At the same time
Dealing honestly with how we feel
And who we really are
That's what grownups do
That is mature thinking

I just have to know
How to be in the process
Of creating things in a better way

And it hurts, but it's a lie
That I can't handle it
I still have a world of me-ness to fulfill

I still have a life
And it's a rich one
Even with mourning
Even with grief and sadness

I still care about this planet
I am still connected to nature
And to my dreams for myself

I have my friends
My family
I have myself
I still have me

I have my friends
My family
I have myself
I still have me