Open Note to Ingrid and Ryan
I have been so uninspired to write lately. Maybe it's because I can't seem to find the surface of my schoolwork, or because I spend all weekend peddling fried chicken. Maybe it's because I've been so transient, and can't seem to keep my bed in one room. Maybe it's because the aftermath of Hurricane Dugaldo is being swept up into someone's dustpan - the last of the relief work to be done.
Whatever it is, it was nice to see you, Ingrid. You, too, Ryan. Thanks for the amazing dinner - it's only with you that I can eat beef and rabbit livers. It's so nice to get out of the box I had put myself in for so long. Since I was 17, as I said before. I'll still be mostly vegetarian, but you know - I don't want to be the one at the steak restaurant who orders the crabcake anymore.
But I'm not thanking you for the fancy dinner, or for sitting me in that cigar bar and sipping a cocktail with me while talking about the trivialities and tragedies of life. I'm thanking you, Ingrid, for putting your hand on Ryan's knee while we waited for a seat, and you, Ryan, for taking the time to put together the perfect bite on your fork and feeding it to Ingrid. I'm thanking you for smiling and kissing each other and scrunching together like Mid-Atlantic penguins. I'm thanking you for reminding me of what things can look like when they're not fucked up.
And guess what? I'm inspired again.
I guess I am a sap, but I'm okay with that. Whatever makes me write.
Whatever it is, it was nice to see you, Ingrid. You, too, Ryan. Thanks for the amazing dinner - it's only with you that I can eat beef and rabbit livers. It's so nice to get out of the box I had put myself in for so long. Since I was 17, as I said before. I'll still be mostly vegetarian, but you know - I don't want to be the one at the steak restaurant who orders the crabcake anymore.
But I'm not thanking you for the fancy dinner, or for sitting me in that cigar bar and sipping a cocktail with me while talking about the trivialities and tragedies of life. I'm thanking you, Ingrid, for putting your hand on Ryan's knee while we waited for a seat, and you, Ryan, for taking the time to put together the perfect bite on your fork and feeding it to Ingrid. I'm thanking you for smiling and kissing each other and scrunching together like Mid-Atlantic penguins. I'm thanking you for reminding me of what things can look like when they're not fucked up.
And guess what? I'm inspired again.
I guess I am a sap, but I'm okay with that. Whatever makes me write.