(no subject)
I can't remember the last time I sat here and watched that flag blow in the breeze. There isn't anything extraordinary about it, and yet here I am entranced by the way it moves. I speak to my husband about the movie he is writing. He writes beautifully and yet there is something so vaguely familar about it. I can sense a certain inspiration I once knew. I found myself jealous of it at one point. Here's to proving that old love doesn't die and that a person who once inspired me can do it again. Why do I say that? Because here I am and I start thinking about this girl he's writing about. He doesn't even know her. She's become his imaginary siren; he'll never find her. And yet he is just as entranced by her as I am by this flag. You just find yourself gazing unendingly at her as though she were telling you her deepest secrets, as if she were calling out to you. It's all in your head however. I try and remember when I first met him and it seems so hazy. So far away. I try and remember the first kiss. Ah yes . . . there's a glimmer or a spark of sorts. But not one big enough to even conjure the feelings racing through my veins when his lips met mine countless times that night. I think about the way he used to make my heart pound, and come to think about it, my heart pounds as I write this. It does not pound as ferociously as it used to, but does pound nevertheless. Of course, distance can do that to you. Thinking about a lover can do things to your mind. It can make you fantasize like you never have before. I've taken old memories and set them on fire with such lust and passion that half the time I don't know where all of it came from.