I miss you.
The heart is a hatchery of feeling: love, loss, long preparations, waiting. I internalize everything inside of my heart. It’s like living inside an impatient suffering room.
What is love for? The sky cannot tell us. Beauty cannot say. I know in my heart impossible things. I make you the sorry happy face of everyone. Of course, I could leave but you would still be the key to everything. Don’t be mad. I have to imagine you, I do not know you.
I see you as an extension of love. How do I account for this long, lost weekend? Where I’ve done nothing profound except perhaps to sit and look at the sun which looks like a sun, very bright and although the weekend was deliberately empty I barely had the endurance to finish it. Time seemed to collapse more than it tended to pass. Staring too long into the sun creates an avalanche of deceptive visions and I chased every single one of those visions thinking they contained answers. If only I could show it to you. The sun I mean. It is the one thing that hangs over us that does not try to make its mark on our world with its long and edgy boulevards. Maybe if you would just look at the sun, you could see the visions and then you could explain them to me.
I admit I like the beginning. When it ends it is over. Totally. But when I drive 100 miles looking for something to do and return home to walk 75 yards and the only thing that makes sense is to stare at the sun again just for the sake of remembering; then it is not over.
I’m not complaining. It was the loveliest worst day.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Your days and hours must feel like bills, as if your happy future is a debt and God is waiting to collect. It feels like such a thorny problem and the longer we dance around the issues; the stars begin to separate from each other. On the other hand, try to remember the trip to Paris and the explosion and the feeling of being born when you’ve really never been born. I know why it’s called hope. Because you never tire of it and it never tires of you. What a triumph that will be.
A good friend told me to write to the universe as if to throw all this into the air and wait for the angel responsible for granting wishes to protect you from the unbearable burden of unkissed kisses. That angel makes me see you in places you’ve never been. You have to understand, I’ve never wished for anything like this.
