When I look at sparkling light and sparklers and the science-fiction red of any explosive from a cardboard box I think of Sparks by Coldplay now, and this isn’t good. It’s not good because it means I’m getting over you. It means the ending of all this is nearly here. It’s no wonder that the best things are like fireworks -bright and hot and glittering and over before you know it. I love cliches - you taught me to do that. It’s no wonder, either, that we liked fireworks. So camp and obnoxious and loud, fit to burst and literally made to dissappear. I had no idea when a stupid sparkler wouldn’t set me off anymore, but apparently, it’s now, today. Now, fireworks don’t make me choke me up with a big fat golfball lump in my throat. This is not a good thing. I am holding onto the cold rocket, shaking it, relighting it.
That’s what I mean by a ‘tight grip’.
Do you remember holding rockets in our hands? Singeing our pathetic arm hairs on the flames, pointing them into trees and bridges and rivers - such obnoxious and obvious fun. I had to hold on to the launcher with the tightest grip my knuckles could muster despite my fingers telling me to let go, it’s burning , let go.
I hold onto stupid little songs from those times in a stupid little Spotify playlist, undecaying residue like the little plastic launcher tubes that I see littered in parks and gardens on January 1st of every single empty new year. I don’t want to let go of these sad little songs that are empty now. Damp explosives. These songs are being replaced by Coldplay songs. I don’t even like Coldplay, and I don’t want to let go of the silly little lyrics of those buried songs that an algorhythm coughed through your speakers in the mid-morning after a night of watching YouTube, watching TV, watching Netflix.
So, now, a cliche of an ending. A cross dissolve into a sunset. A firework lighting up a blurred sky and a voice over, slower now, telling you that if you love someone, you have to let them go. A vomit hacked up, hot, at the painful predictability of it all. A fireworks that makes a big bang - we all saw that coming. So heartbreak, so what?
What’s this about then? I am asking really, when a firework finishes? Is it when the stick falls into someones little pond somewhere, hot enough to make a fizzy sound but not hot enough to cause dismay, disarray, dissolved coi, goldfish, lilypads into sinking ash? Does a firework finish when it leaves a hand, a launcher? When it’s carried away, cold, in a binbag? When it’s thrown into a landfill pile?
When can you be absolutely sure it’s over? Is it when the songs don’t matter anymore? Is it when a firework is just a firework? Is it when there’s no flame? no light?