carvngintowater (carvngintowater) wrote,
carvngintowater
carvngintowater

It feels late

I met up with an old friend on the bus. The day was turning sour until that moment, and I remembered how pleasant the unexpected can be. I usually make more of things than they are, which allows for good memories. Is that sad? Anthony, with deep eyes always searching for meaning, calculating the value of things...lips thicker than most and gentle over words, breathing them almost so that they are nearly a part of the humming buss's motor. You smiled endearingly at me, and I felt immortal, unashamed of my awkwardness, as if I struck a familiar chord in you...reminding you of your youth, which is still very much about you. Again, I read so much into it, yet I feel that our bond is made of more than just mutual attraction. It is my discovery of poetry's wonders, and his ongoing romance with such things. I am embarking on a journey that is, for him, many years in the traveling. We have crossed paths several times over the past two years, and to him I am perhpas just a starry eyed lit major, like so many others he has met. Still, I hoped that we would take a shine to me. He gave me the name Paublo Neruda, and his own e-mail address, and spoke briefly of a school in Seattle called Antioch. Then I had to get off the bus.
Paublo Neruda is fantastic. The poem entitled "Poetry" described my epiphany over the preface to "Early Frost" with startling accuracy. Although many of these kindred minds are long dead, their thoughts are like breaths of air. Sometimes it feels like the blinking of my internal eye, a periodic remoistening of the visceral retina which has newly begun to absorb and synthesize this world. My inner self is gasping for nourishment. I hope Anthony e-mails me back. If he does not, I will just consider our encounter a blessing, for it brought the name Neruda, and renewed my hope of finding more people like me in this city.
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