The hill that became a mountain



How many different ways can you think of to describe a breeze? But it was no ordinary breeze, for I experienced it with you. Together we ran up the little hill (although it felt like a mountain), like two drunk people, and experienced an ascent like no other.

The breeze almost blew us into the diamond sea.

Then I remember other things. The baby-blue of the sky that we traveled through. The oily meat. My feet stepping on cigarettes, spit. Life being a little dirtier than I expected. The old music that made you cry. The soup, like a drug. The room filled with TV noise. Lights, blinding you temporarily. The shielding and cowering. Because it was always so cold.

I guess that's why we go away. So we can remember these things, intensely, despite our terrible memory.

We cannot skim the surface. That is what I think.

2 comments:

August 4, 2011 at 5:18 PM Amelia said...

Your blog is such an internet gem. I've perused it the past 24 hours and I am inspired and in awe.

I hope you continue casual poet. I think, you have a very honest way of writing that is a bit reminiscing of Banana Yoshimoto.

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