Monday, December 8, 2008
"Music for cold nights under incomprehensible stars, for cups of coffee and cigarette smoke, for a long walk by the river where you might be alone or you might meet someone. It is music for encounters in shabby stairways, the music of lovemaking in a narrow bed, the tendernesses, the caress, the pull of strong arms and legs. Music for men and women thin as bones. Music for your invisibility. Music for your warms that ache from longing from wishing he might be standing at the top of the stairs waiting to take the bags and then lean over and kiss you and even his silly stubble scratching your cold face would be welcome and you only discover that you're crying when you try to find your keys-- Music for a day in the fall when you buy a new coat and think perhaps you will live here for the rest of your life, perhaps it will be possible, you have changed so much, would they recognize you? would you recognize your country? would you recognize yourself?"
My days are brimming over with plans and this city sleeps under a blanket of snow. I feel more and more like myself again. I am not writing an essay I should be. I'm wondering where the love goes when it's over. I'm re-reading words and wishing I hadn't and remembering forgotten safeness. I'm making plans. I'm excited for three days from now, and all the days and weeks following. I love Beach House. I'm willing the unknown. Finally.
I also love perfectly timed packages from best friends in faraway places. My wombmate knows me well, and knows just what will cheer me up. I can't wait for a faraway reunion out east. But in the meantime, her love sent express post will tie me over.