Letters Electronica

Grey end-of-afternoon light leans against the wall like a lazy cowboy. Basil the pup lounges in different parts of the home rather jumpily. Now after four cups of strong coffee this body lounges rather jumpily also. Life rattles along.

I thought I would take a moment to write.

The house plants are happy for once, which is nothing short of a green miracle. Cool settles in at home as the sun switches over to the other side of the house. The shady side grows shadier.

What is new? Nothing wild.

I found this bizarre and random piece of a letter today while meandering through my electronic past. Hotmail is the digital letter graveyard of my youth. I can't help but laugh over old writing like this. Twenty year old naive writing, free as can be.

Time changes us, we change with time.

I loved you today, you all tender and soft with generous, fruitful hands and me 
wishing for more time, more words, more exchange than just a 
caramelized onion hug and softness from your rimmed eyes. I read your letter in the back alley and cried huge gasping bellows until Dorian the tall, gangly one found me. I turned away into a chain link fence to hide my face from him. He was kind to me and I will be more kind to him from now on because of it. 

Today was full well, grocery shopping after work with a simple song in my ears. I sang in the aisles, weaving in and out of the produce wishing for Nathan and the boy in picture you sent in the yellow European shirt with holes and mop-top hair. Wishing and buying with selective fingers and a knit brow. I spent 33 dollars and bought a fridge full of greens for health and fancy water for us to share in bed. 

Afterwards, Yosh picked me up in his giant white car and it felt like we were flying and hovering above the road without wings. I stuck my feet out the window even though it was an inappropriate car to do so. I don't care, and I didn't care then, and neither did Yosh. We went for Thai food and unscrewed the light bulb and ate in the dark. Eating the masaman and red curry soup greedily, wolfing like two teenaged boys. After the dark dinner we watched 'A lot like love' with feet slung over rearranged furniture and a cat on my belly, quietly wishing I looked more like Amanda Peet when I laughed with my mouth open instead of like my long-dead great grandma with her too-full set of teeth. 

Genetic laughter.

I went home and Amy was waiting on my steps in pajama's and white hair like a hip Santa Clause and we crawled into my bed and talked about sex. I figured out a lot of things and so did she. We agreed that I am a tender lover and she is opposite. I need touch and raised arm hair and she needs to be on top without thinking. The last contact I had with a man was wild and there are reasons to be terrified and also to be confident around men after something like that. She had the glowing rivers for veins in her eyelids. I love her the most in that glow.

Well. That was something.