Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Letter to somebody I knew

We haven't spoken in a while. But today I read something you wrote many years ago. You wrote about confusion and force and love and wrangling, rambling touch and sound. It reminded me of who you used to be. It reminded me of who I used to be. And I am still that. And I trust you are too. And yet we do not speak.

It is perhaps well. Because imagine wanting to be who we were. And reminding one another everyday of the person we used to know. Forcing one another to be what was most dear to us about ourselves. Imagine.

You were beautiful though. As I think, was I.
Write before the word escapes you. I woke up and was reading old emails from old friends, confidantes and rivals. They are sparkling and ticklish and staccato-ed and all over the place. And so driven. Life gushes out; the words gush out like the life they are struggling to remake. One rock at a time. Smoothing over; strangling, jumping, words. Stumbling over each other struggling to say something.

And this is what is different now. This is what we struggle to find; in beer bars and jazz concerts and airports all over the world. We all maintain our weakening bodies and our tired minds even as we seek that time when things were open.

Is it possible? To be quiet and bright at the same time?