[writing] :)
For my girls, Cyn vacivity and Marie totipotence--
This is what we will do.
You will visit me someday, and on a Friday night we will go out to the bay, have dinner and sit with coffee and tea, a sandwich that costs perhaps, a little too much for simple ham and cheese with lettuce. There will be a lot of us, so that my parents do not worry; maybe my brother and his friends at another table, maybe just us plus one or two or three.
In the ideal execution of this plan, we won't need to sleep, because there is much that can be spoken when they light the lamps along the rail and all else goes dark. We will stay past even the boys and girls who busy themselves with flirting and dancing. We will wait for the sun to come back up, its yellow gaze wondering why we are still here; why we have not gone home.
I know already that you will not let me deny you a song, but in exchange you must bring your guitar so that I can press a kiss to where music has punched a hole so that your fingers may strum and let this instrument sing. It is a strange request, I know, but we are eccentric children who eat poetry for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
We are the ones who take the fairytales apart, put them back together again because in a way, writers are not so different from scientists. We seek knowledge, long to see tomorrow become today and are sometimes obedient to the rules we know we like to bend and break.
We will make time last, so that when I let you go past the steel and glass of the airport, I will have struck from my vocabulary the sadness of goodbye.
This is what we will do.
You will visit me someday, and on a Friday night we will go out to the bay, have dinner and sit with coffee and tea, a sandwich that costs perhaps, a little too much for simple ham and cheese with lettuce. There will be a lot of us, so that my parents do not worry; maybe my brother and his friends at another table, maybe just us plus one or two or three.
In the ideal execution of this plan, we won't need to sleep, because there is much that can be spoken when they light the lamps along the rail and all else goes dark. We will stay past even the boys and girls who busy themselves with flirting and dancing. We will wait for the sun to come back up, its yellow gaze wondering why we are still here; why we have not gone home.
I know already that you will not let me deny you a song, but in exchange you must bring your guitar so that I can press a kiss to where music has punched a hole so that your fingers may strum and let this instrument sing. It is a strange request, I know, but we are eccentric children who eat poetry for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
We are the ones who take the fairytales apart, put them back together again because in a way, writers are not so different from scientists. We seek knowledge, long to see tomorrow become today and are sometimes obedient to the rules we know we like to bend and break.
We will make time last, so that when I let you go past the steel and glass of the airport, I will have struck from my vocabulary the sadness of goodbye.