“Church had always been like a field of poppies, one day it would wake mid-bloom and tell the Sun to move on. In the nab of thunder, nimble clouds would swarm in the sky, in little islands, to call the day of rain. Soon my window sill would be full of water and days will last in slumber.” It is important, that in homilies, one must make haste to write of what may stray on one’s mind. This brief sensibility may have been why I had found myself to you, Iris. When you said that what makes us cry in music is when melancholy collides with specificity, at the time I had thought I understood you fully, that in all odds, we were a half of a half, that we shared the same kind of sadness. I remember you wearing that dress, the one I wanted at Kaash’s, I still want to know what you meant, when I had gone with you that night and we were drenched from head to toe. Had I been upset differently, would you have smiled when you said those words? Would you have brought me to a quieter ...
Comments
Post a Comment