mood: paper airplanes cross continent & ocean
it was arbitrary, rococo, unrelated to current conditionsas a tradition sung down in a ballad, an anachronism of the heart.
-sara jeanette duncan
laughter & tigermilk & latte-art, a plateful of pastries! new one-language words, the eloquence of my grandmother, pin-prick snowflakes. phone calls can cross a country and the distance of our months (november there, december here). lewis is writing the very first song about me & we made up a round for all of our names. the late-discovered death of my favourite writer; our words, our words...
i woke sleepily this morning, rereading "spring in fialta" over coffee and readying myself so slowly. library day: a table with transitioning friends, thoughts & the thoughtlessness of my gnostic notes. i walked all the way down tower road seeking a secret gospel, collecting strangers in splendid fur hats, feeling the wind pass through my hands. orange peels are my only litter; they curl exquisite against grey sidewalks.
you & i changed a coffeeshop so the small chairs huddled around a giant, highseats came level with spillstains. "look! look!" says the girl, a rag dripping to the hardwood from her hands. "i didn't notice," i quietly feign. "but isn't it normally this way?" you say, jumping up to help her rearrange. we are these moments; perfect in themselves. finding this so easy (when i was not waiting) is what makes me pause.
you & i changed a coffeeshop so the small chairs huddled around a giant, highseats came level with spillstains. "look! look!" says the girl, a rag dripping to the hardwood from her hands. "i didn't notice," i quietly feign. "but isn't it normally this way?" you say, jumping up to help her rearrange. we are these moments; perfect in themselves. finding this so easy (when i was not waiting) is what makes me pause.
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