I listen to Wind
I remember now how the sky once looked...I want to go home, lie down on the terrace and watch the clouds move by. I want to look into the inviolably deep light-blueness of the evening sky and wonder about something. Anything. I remember the feel of the hard uneven cement under my back and legs. I remember the friction as I tried moving to a more comfortable place. I remember recognizing the patch of darker filler cement where the older cement had come loose by the shape of the pressure. I remember the warmth of the floor on my neck and hands as I lay there. I remember remembering to worry about having to answer for dirtied clothes much too late.I remember all this suddenly as I read of a conversation a person had with the sea. And for some reason, I feel the quiver of excitement in my legs. This feeling will go too; by the time the weekend is here and I go home, I will forget to run up and try this again. Even if I did, I know I'm going to get stuck in a time warp again and obsess over everything that's gone by. In a sense I'm glad for not remembering, for feelings from the past can't be like recipes in a cook-book. Nostalgia (An elegant broth to fortify the soul). Take 2 measures depression, 1 measure satisfaction, 6 measures alcohol. Stir well, add rain to taste. Serves 1. For a lifetime. Always take with a pinch of salt.
I remember now how the sky once looked...I want to go home, lie down on the terrace and watch the clouds move by. I want to look into the inviolably deep light-blueness of the evening sky and wonder about something. Anything. I remember the feel of the hard uneven cement under my back and legs. I remember the friction as I tried moving to a more comfortable place. I remember recognizing the patch of darker filler cement where the older cement had come loose by the shape of the pressure. I remember the warmth of the floor on my neck and hands as I lay there. I remember remembering to worry about having to answer for dirtied clothes much too late.I remember all this suddenly as I read of a conversation a person had with the sea. And for some reason, I feel the quiver of excitement in my legs. This feeling will go too; by the time the weekend is here and I go home, I will forget to run up and try this again. Even if I did, I know I'm going to get stuck in a time warp again and obsess over everything that's gone by. In a sense I'm glad for not remembering, for feelings from the past can't be like recipes in a cook-book. Nostalgia (An elegant broth to fortify the soul). Take 2 measures depression, 1 measure satisfaction, 6 measures alcohol. Stir well, add rain to taste. Serves 1. For a lifetime. Always take with a pinch of salt.
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