July 07, 2004
the rich green grass is soft and i comb through it with my fingers. it's dark out. the stars are out, whole galaxies light years away. they say the light we see is a thousand years old, that some of the stars we see might not even exist anymore. a troubling thought.
"how do you know when things aren't meant to be?"
his voice is low. if it weren't so silent out i wouldn't be able to hear. the grass smells sweet. maybe we can just enjoy the sweetness of the air and the darkness of the night and the freshness of the breeze and not have to think. or feel.
the earth takes three hundred sixty five days to make one rotation around the sun.
we're spinning. i'm spinning. maybe that's why my thoughts can't be made coherant.
"some things don't work out."
he grits his teeth and sighs, shifts his weight. maybe he's leaving.
he comes back with a hot cup of tea. the fragrance prickles my nose. it's soothing, the taste. i watch the steam rise in wispy patterns. they disappear in the air. thoughts are like that. they rise and intertwine and fade. i like the silence. why can't it be silent forever?
i rise. awkwardly, politely i hand him the mug. thank him. and leave. how DO you know when things aren't meant to be?
