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All The Things We Saw

Sophie Lou Wilson

Autumn, 2017

(All text in italics by Jarvis Cocker, from the song ‘Sheffield: Sex City’)



My first autumn,tears on my cheeks.

It’s way past bedtime, the moon hung low,

the air sick and heavy with that end of summer feeling.

Why is it so hot? On the cathedral green,

the three of us made great plans to grow up.

He wanted more so he said, “Can I kiss you?

Can I kiss you properly?” Twirling

around my bedroom to ‘Wuthering Heights.’

Ten o’clock on Tuesday evening. He has a drink

and tries to hold my hand, thinks he’s the one.

Who needs this shit anyway? I leave and scatter

his heart across the east midlands railway line.

Oh babe. Oh I’m sorry. His words come to me

in the middle of the night, hazy and desperate.

I don’t know why you bother, really.

More than a year between us now

and he never stopped. Get it together.



I wandered the streets the whole night crying,

but I did get over it, though the lights still remind me,

the sound of the train, the winter, the flats.

We got it together tonight. We made it. Cheap vodka,

a sticky dance floor & your eyes & your necklace,

& your mouth around a cigarette. I kept thinking

of you and almost walking into lampposts.

The Sheffield rain piercing the puddles on the

pavement. My head spinning. Calling your name

in the rain. The lights jazz danced across

your ceiling. The world is going on outside.

On your record player Morrissey crooned:

“Maybe in the next world.” When it was over

we went outside and I thought, “the city’s out to get me.”


park hill

The rain had finally stopped. On a hilltop at 4am,

beneath the lights of the I love you bridge,

we sat, reading the words over and over

‘til the sky painted itself grey with dawn.

We moved through there like ghosts in a place

filled with ghosts. A million twinkling yellow

streetlights. We finally made it. She never married him,

you know, but I’m still rubbing up against walls,

making love to the idea of a love that will last.

The city knows all our secrets.

Like when he first touched me and whispered,

“The whole city is your jewellery box”, but I am always

romanticising someone else’s tragedy, gliding,

like a sleepwalker, through a life I have never lived.

But it’s ok now, we got it together we made it.

We really did this time.

Sophie is a writer and nostalgic interested in pretty clothes, honest prose, sad music, and happy days by the sea. As a teenager she liked staying up too late on Tumblr, writing angsty poetry, trying to dress like Tavi Gevinson and listening to The Smiths.


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