To the past, with love...

...I saw you once in Cleveland. You were getting out of your car and I was getting on my bike. We looked at each other and I rode away. Trying to pretend that I didn't recognize you and failing. I felt rude afterwards and remembered evenings of discovering Nick Drake and Iron and Wine and that painting that you had by your bed and every so often I look at my arms and remember that "legs are too utilitarian" but arms - arms are beautiful. You once told me that you wanted me to end like "Lost in Translation" and so, I suppose that means all that we'll ever get of memory is that little pinprick that won't let us forget. A stumbled-upon blog here, a false myspace account there. Poetic, to the extent the cyber-world can be...poetic and intimidatingly frustrating. Then again, maybe the frustrating part would be running out of things to say. I still remember you with wings. And a mother whom you loved.

Thank you for wishing me well. I hope that you are too.