04 May 2011

29 November

I don’t know if I ever told you this. Because we don’t really talk about that time. About what happened. … so… About that guy in Carolina? Mark? Yeah. He was a musician, actually. Which I know you’d love…  piano and guitar. And, oddly, bassoon. Anyway, he lived down the hall from me, and we’d always seem to be leaving at the same time, and the halls and elevators were so small and cramped that with the three of us (he and I and his instrument cases) all packed into such a tight spot, it was almost impossible, not to meet. It was either laugh at it and strike up a conversation, or feign either idiocy or irritation. We chose the former. … the conversation, not the idiocy… anyway, it was good. He was pretty amazing. Honestly. Great lyricist, and that kind of voice I love. All raw and real. Anyway, he invited me over once, and we drank coffee and I nosed around all of the pictures in his apartment and we listened to some music and talked. Those good kind of talks where you’re not really discussing anything but yourselves cloaked in arbitrary topics. And we built a fire on his balcony which I’m pretty sure isn’t allowed, and he played his guitar, and we watched the stars creep across the sky. And it was a nice place. A fearless place, and free. And so we struck up this affiliation. And I was so glad of it. And maybe another time I’ll tell you about how it ended. Because I was stupid. As I so often am. And ruined it all. And I’d rather not go through all that tonight.
Because tonight the sky is bleeding opal over the hills, and the shadows are long, layered behind the light, and the autumn is ripening. And I want my heart to be light tonight, running. Light enough to ride a falling leaf, or to catch an igniting spark from the pearly flame of the dying sun. Or maybe just light enough to remain buoyant in the churning quicksand of the world.

1 comment:

  1. Luv! "the sky is bleeding opal" and "the churning quicksand of the world."


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