caution is thrown to the wind
and I think I'm stronger for it
yes I do
This next set of thoughts comes from a mind adrift in the heat of the San Fernando Valley.
It's Thursday afternoon and the day is just beginning to cool down. I've got fish cut into small pieces and floating in a bowl full of lime juice. The citric acid is working its magic and as soon as I'm done here I'll finish making dinner for my parents, Andria, and myself. A cool ceviche tostada sounds perfectly in line with the heat of today. And a beer. Don't forget a cool beer by my side.
And all of this reminds me of one of my favorite poems by David Berman called the charm of 5:30. Some day I'll read it to you, all you have to do is ask.
I've been reading to Oriana and she's been reading to me. It started as a way to keep her mind alive during the endless feverish nights. The simple act kept her from succumbing to boredom and the rampant spiral of lonely thoughts. An unintended consequence came out of this though. Reading by myself is a bit more lonely now. No longer do I have her warm body, ear, and soft voice to guide me through this novel. The story is missing its audience. I'm missing an ear to speak into. The words lose permanence. They pass through my head and are lost amongst thoughts of doctor's offices and long drives in the desert.
It's Thursday afternoon and the day is just beginning to cool down. I've got fish cut into small pieces and floating in a bowl full of lime juice. The citric acid is working its magic and as soon as I'm done here I'll finish making dinner for my parents, Andria, and myself. A cool ceviche tostada sounds perfectly in line with the heat of today. And a beer. Don't forget a cool beer by my side.
And all of this reminds me of one of my favorite poems by David Berman called the charm of 5:30. Some day I'll read it to you, all you have to do is ask.
I've been reading to Oriana and she's been reading to me. It started as a way to keep her mind alive during the endless feverish nights. The simple act kept her from succumbing to boredom and the rampant spiral of lonely thoughts. An unintended consequence came out of this though. Reading by myself is a bit more lonely now. No longer do I have her warm body, ear, and soft voice to guide me through this novel. The story is missing its audience. I'm missing an ear to speak into. The words lose permanence. They pass through my head and are lost amongst thoughts of doctor's offices and long drives in the desert.
Devin thought this was worth your time
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