Half a bridge

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The scene is summer in St. Paul, MN (my eternal infatuation). Perhaps the month is August, to be exact; perhaps the month is April, but perhaps it is still august. Perhaps it is the cruellest month.

I desire nothing but to go down that river with you on a steamboat’s easy amble. Perhaps that river is not the Mississippi, but the Thames. Perhaps you are not someone I know just yet (yes but maybe you are). Why not mix memory and desire, breed lilacs out of the dead land, shed January and dethaw in those warm waves, lilac wine shimmer in our wake?

When the bloodflow’s tingling sensation pricks a million pins into our arms as we wake, it is cruel indeed, but let us wake. Bid farewell to winter’s wondrous, dampened dreams, awake to summer, to the words that transcend that infinite distance between you and I.

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3 Responses to “Half a bridge”

  1. x Says:

    aww this entry makes me think i should date an english major. things with the current boyfriend are kinda spiraling to an end anyway, i want someone to write me pretty things! le sigh i

  2. x Says:

    hey it killed part of my comment, the rest said “le sigh i (heart) words”

  3. Nocturnal Perambulations » Blog Archive » Lover, You Should Have Come Over Says:

    […] Another thought: I feel like I’ve had a very interesting year, constantly exploring new things, developing, etc. There has been nearly no repetition, no returning, everything has been a new experience. Perhaps that will continue into the summer, perhaps not – regardless, I will return to something I’ve done before when I return to Morris. But I’m fairly certain that if someone described a similar year to me that they’d had, or if I described it to someone else, it would pass through the other’s ears without a great impact. It’s sort of hard to conceptualize the trials, experiences, and growths other people go through. Unless, of course, they write or sing songs like Jeff Buckley. That’s the half a bridge that’s so hard to cross. […]

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