But tomorrow, we'll make our beds and wipe off the counter tops as if nothing has ever happened.
And we'll ignore the constant clicking of our bedside worries.
And our arms will brush aimlessly against the next,
in a detached
and passive way.
And our mothers will cry
and our best friends will not.
And the red light bulb will flash, and we will weep for the memories that eat at our hands.
I will miss your stories and your kindness, and the way you slur your words when you're tired. I will miss Paris, and the lights. And the old man who counts the number of people that pass every hour.
I'm sorry this wasn't good enough. The paths of reality and desire run parallel to each other, but sadly they do not cross. And that's not anywhere near the apology you deserve, but I don't have a better one to offer. So this one will have to suffice.
I'm sorry I can't fix you.
I guess I just can't equate.
I can't wait to see what you do with your life.
ReplyDeleteGood luck.
Don't be a stranger.
Here's a cool thing: I'm starting Year Two of college, and Paris never really leaves. Sorry if that sounds sappy and lame, but it's the whole truth. You've been to Paris once, and if you're lucky, you'll stay there. I'm still there and I don't plan on leaving anytime soon.
ReplyDeleteGood luck with the future and writing and blogging, etc, etc, etc.
"The paths of reality and desire run parallel to each other, but sadly they do not cross."
ReplyDeleteThis is my favorite line I have read in a long time. Perfect.
This is soo beautiful. Everything you write is breathtaking.
ReplyDeleteAnd I have to admit, I kind of freaked out when you commented on my blog. Because you are up there with the celebrities in my book and I've read your old blog over and over and over.
Your writing is magic. Please don't stop.
I wonder what has happened to you...
ReplyDelete