 |
| A Letter to whomever on my 23rd Birthday |
|
 |
| Dear one I spent the day alone, but quite content. I thought of you, and my melancholy was spent. There was lunch in Italy, and lattes in Manhattan, and the wonderfully unselfconscious banter of a lover in my ear. Salve my soul sweet hazelnut latte. Wrap yourself around my heart, sweet syrup, sweet song. Oh wrap your warm thoughts around my self, dear far-off one. Thank the Maker for my imagination, for it's as if you're right here. As if... (a long-forgotten poetry class... our fingers traverse the desert that lies between us, taking up the journey from one soul to another... time stands still... motionless people on motionless stairs... it's somewhere in between time and space... an alleyway of imagination... a moment of grace...) I drink too much wine - you know one glass is enough. It makes me float. Far-off I hear people talk, and I smile. For never in all my life have I been so certain of my existence (and of yours), or of the boundless possibilities, or of the power of words and the way I roll them round in my mouth. I am 23 today. What does that say? I wrack my brain for an answer, but all I feel is... Your absence, your absence. |