Good Oceanside morning, oh Literati. I figured it was only fair that I enter the contest as well, which ends in about a week (still time for you to submit other entries of your own) You Didn’t Write That. I am hoping that all of us, meaning you (plural) and me/I, have more in common …
Good Oceanside morning, oh Literati.
I figured it was only fair that I enter the contest as well, which ends in about a week (still time for you to submit other entries of your own) You Didn’t Write That.
I am hoping that all of us, meaning you (plural) and me/I, have more in common than our pain. I am little self-indulgent today, struggling as I suspect all of us do, with love, life, and literature. But every writer knows, as Bob Dylan wrote “Behind every beautiful thing, there’s been some kind of pain.” Mine passes quickly. I hope your own does too.
by Thorn Sully
If I hurry, the sun and the moon will still be sharing the sky. I walk to the beach, but first, I find music on a disc, close the windows and let it play so that when I return, my den will be filled with music though it may have stopped playing. I want to be able to smell it when I return, first thing.
I want the woman to be filled with me, though I have stopped playing. I am filled with the woman, though she has stopped playing. She is everywhere– in the coffee grounds that settle in my cup, in the steam to my brow before the cup was done, in the sand, the railroad tracks, the wail of the passing train. Everywhere. She is everywhere. But where am I? If not in her heart, than I am not.
The burden of disappointing her, I will have to let that fall upon another’s shoulders. If I was not who I am, if she was not who she is, perhaps, we could truly be lovers.
But you didn’t write that to lose her love, or to punish yourself with impossibilities, I tell myself. It is instead, the valedictorian speech for the graduating class of failed love.
I return from the beach, where on the horizon, sails, white and jagged, a regatta of shark’s teeth devour what is left of this morning.
Touch, is everything…
(Click to play)
Editor’s note (that would still me moi) So I did return from the beach, and the music was still playing. A CD my daughter made for me years ago, with her favorites/ my favorites. I opened the door to John Lennon. And so my entry for You Didn’t Write That has a title. Same CD was followed by Beatles’ Blackbird.