today is the grey kind of day where you find yourself on the street corner waiting for the light to turn smoking half a djarum, coughing your lungs up and feeling eighty years old. a day where the fifties music blaring in fromaggio's sounds like a joke and it uses up all your self control to not cry when the fromaggio guy pushes your latte forward and says 'this one's on me' or when your friend pounds on the piano keys in the foyer singing 'lay it all down, lay it all down, lay it all down, lay it all down' and you are resting your head on a wooden bench staring blankly into space. beauty almost hurts on a day like this.
tomorrow i will embrace it.
Dear Beth,
ReplyDeleteI miss seeing your smiling face and hearing your voice. When will I see you again? Is there a chance that you will come to Portland this summer?