Her Two Cents
After a year of having very little time to read books for pleasure, I’ve recently returned to this past-time with a vengeance. Whether it’s tucking into a few pages over morning tea or curled up on the sofa as the natural light fades from the sky, this leisurely activity feels deliciously indulgent! With books on the shelf and books on my mind, I went searching through the Missed Connections wondering what the poets might have to say about these mysterious and transformative objects. As expected, there were plenty of notes for the wandering, shy souls of bookstores; there were missives dedicated to failed romances and the books that defined them (and have not been returned); there were hopeful letters dedicated to blossoming crushes and the books that define them (and have been eagerly shared); and then this piece from Asheville appeared. On first reading it struck me as sad and longing but when paired with the music it referenced, the mood changed. The longing was there, but it felt hopeful, creating a vivid image of a world that could be right around the corner. Right around the…
It’s Us Against The World
Missed Connections from Asheville
it’s late at night and our rooms are soaked in moon
perhaps you are:
laying in your bed. flat on your back. you’ve got downbeat on. the lows help beat your heart and stir your thoughts. you are gazing out at the twinkling lights in the distance. the sprawling humanity. the mountains.
and you are wondering:
how can i still be alone? how can i still long so deeply?
to read favorite pages aloud
to hum and conduct that one part in Beethoven’s 6th that nearly brings you to tears each and every time you hear it?
the inside jokes and knowing glances
the whispers of inappropriate things in your ear at inappropriate times
the solace of being truly understood.
celebrated.
the smell of your neck soaked in rain
the tattered books in our bags. the chefing at home. the hugs from behind.
sleeping in on Sunday and just plain not giving a shit what comes next because we’ve already arrived.
we are together.
the discourse. laughing at ridiculousness. being aroused by seriousness.
chewing on our thoughts.
the bliss. the hurt. the reconciliation of past and future.
a work in progress.
you are brainy. you are thin and give warm enveloping hugs. your heart is on your sleeve. you can see music and taste words.
you are sarcastic and sincere, progressive yet domestic. you push me to think harder and make me lentil soup when i’m sick.
i make you cds with contrived themes, underline passages in books I loan you, and make you feel appreciated.
it’s us against the world.
i’m lonely. i am incredibly real. i am lovesick. i am brilliant and fragile and unafraid and human and inspired and powerful. i am a contradiction. i am gorgeous because I am distinct. just like you.
are you somewhere? pining? yearning? refusing to give up? feeling a slight gravitational force towards a center that you can’t seem to locate?
are you mine? am i yours?
tread lightly with me.
i don’t share these things every day
