so I don't quite understand this thing, about how things have to sneak up on me, on how I never get the email reply or the phone call or the letter in the mail while I'm waiting for it. only after I've forgotten about it, then does it arise with fury, or sometimes as quietly as the peep of a baby chick, both throwing me to the ground equally and knocking me senseless.
emails from TB, on a sunday afternoon in a hot kitchen. love letters I've written to boys in bands, answered so completely, so thankfully, so delicately. cds in the mail from kristin. a book when I'm wondering what to read next. fellow obsessors of the butter of nuts. a sonnet from a friend about being downright sexy.
I could go on and on.
I guess it's about me not choking the life out of things, floating instead in the beauty and translusence of surprises. it's about doing things and forgetting, doing them just for the good of doing them. Putting It Out There.
so here's to phone calls from long-lost lovers while I'm taping pictures to the wall. here's to stolen kisses in the middle of hanging christmas lights. to emails you sent without hopes of reply, and your favorite band playing down the street on a friday night by accident.
it's like throwing sparkles - if you keep flinging them out into the universe furiously, some of them are bound to land on you, even if it's not your intent.
~vvb, with a flourish.