It seems to me now that many stories in my own experience have been reduced to a very strange sort of alphabet.
There are perfect moments.
Some people don't believe these sorts of moments exist. Others do believe, and spend their time and energies and money trying to find or create them. A few have experienced these moments and seek to understand them. And a very small few have learned to create them at will.
You may have met one of those individuals. Think back. Did you? Did you feel some sort of twinge when you passed them on the bus, or in line? Make eye contact? Feel like crying for no reason?
nah. Neither have I. And I've not a shred of evidence for any of it. But I'll have to say I belong to the third group.
Possibly it's the heat. I really don't know how human beings stay sane in this place. I'm not exactly sure why I'm still here.
And then there was the 4th. Another 4th. Did I think about America? Yeah, briefly. They weren't great thoughts, but very nearly hopeful. It was a good day for me, though still, as holidays are, it was another. Did you have a good 4th? Did you think about America? Did you wonder what took you from the last 4th to this one?
Where was I last year? I wonder. And now, what is?
Mostly, it's going to be about working these things out, somehow, in the language these experiences have become.
I'll show you. Sometime.