No insurance for the impossible.
Twenty-two.
It's been a long road, I remember you saying. But you weren't talking to me, then, were you? Still, that's all I remember. You saying that - that it'd been a while. That, maybe, you thought of me. That the sky outside was still grey - that maybe you would think of me again. That you still wanted to -loved to. That you still would one day need to.
Did you know what you were doing? Did you know how you would move me?
Well I don't really think so...
But I'm older now. Each day, sure, gets us older. But when the earth has rotated a full turn - you feel it. You feel the changes: skin growing less elastic, your smile growing more plastic. The pops that come when you bend each joint, trying each angle with tenderness, with uncertainty, with care. Testing your back for fissure-points, your eyes for flickerless light, your bones for strength and breaks.
Testing yourself to see if you're still alive; if you'll still be alive this time next year, when the earth finishes your cycle again. When the morning of the end of an olde year dawns, drags on into a day, then sets with a burning oragne sun. And then, the next stirs you awake on a flat air mattress. Not to tell you you're alive. Not to tell you life is brilliant - not to tell you the world is wonderful - not to tell you goodmorning.
But reminding you, today, as you lie there half on the floor, half pushed up against the sticky, mucky, sweaty plastic of the deflated matress - you are now officially a year older.
Happy birthday.
-RK
It's been a long road, I remember you saying. But you weren't talking to me, then, were you? Still, that's all I remember. You saying that - that it'd been a while. That, maybe, you thought of me. That the sky outside was still grey - that maybe you would think of me again. That you still wanted to -loved to. That you still would one day need to.
Did you know what you were doing? Did you know how you would move me?
Well I don't really think so...
But I'm older now. Each day, sure, gets us older. But when the earth has rotated a full turn - you feel it. You feel the changes: skin growing less elastic, your smile growing more plastic. The pops that come when you bend each joint, trying each angle with tenderness, with uncertainty, with care. Testing your back for fissure-points, your eyes for flickerless light, your bones for strength and breaks.
Testing yourself to see if you're still alive; if you'll still be alive this time next year, when the earth finishes your cycle again. When the morning of the end of an olde year dawns, drags on into a day, then sets with a burning oragne sun. And then, the next stirs you awake on a flat air mattress. Not to tell you you're alive. Not to tell you life is brilliant - not to tell you the world is wonderful - not to tell you goodmorning.
But reminding you, today, as you lie there half on the floor, half pushed up against the sticky, mucky, sweaty plastic of the deflated matress - you are now officially a year older.
Happy birthday.
-RK
4 Thought(s):
Happy Birthday!
Beautiful.
A terrific example of what Chuck Palahniuk calls: “Unpacking the details.”
And, for writing so mature, GOD, are you young…
wow. Thank you...
To answer your question...
Word verification is a new-ish feature -- from the Blogger Dashboard, click on the "Change Settings" icon, go to "Comments" and scroll down to the "Show word verification for comments?" option. Click on "Yes," and republish.
The best pic of me on the web (as far as I know), is displayed in the "Company" section of the NMTC website. However, that headshot about ten years old...
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