After a few days, a trebled sense of peace overcomes, but a strange one, floating between the uncomfortable awakened nausea at the rolling end credits of a movie and the bubble dream sunshine lightheadedness sensation of being covered out of the world to somewhere behind the curtains. I could fill my days soaking up every drop. If only every day resumed itself to sunrise and sunset and the quietness that floods the street during unholy hours. If only every week could be summarized in those three minutes of surreal musical notes that goosebumps its way to my core.
There is something about the emptiness of a playground in the early evening and the sunspots that play on the grass through the branches this day and the swift cool breeze that shake the pines in the grey skies the next.
Every day should start with a favorite song. Every story should end with rain. Every poem should have but one thought, the first and the last. And every hug should end tighter than it began. Every phone call should end with soft voices.
Can we live without each other? For how long? For what purpose?
I received a package from a dear friend of mine today. A friend I've never met. Who would have ever imagined?