Computers are either the greatest thing ever invented or the worst. I haven’t decided yet. The ability to have instant access to certain people from thousands of miles away (or years ago) can be downright heartbreaking.
All of a sudden I’m staring at the screen and trying to figure out why we can’t hear each other. It’s the perfect allegory for how we met and how the whole thing unfolded. The phone lines got crossed. Timing was off. I don’t want to get into it here.
And when we talk it’s so easy. I remember these things like they happened yesterday, I swear. Or like they haven’t even happened yet and they’re going to happen and I can’t wait for them to happen even though I’m not going to like most of it, but I know you at least understand that I meant to write this sentence exactly the way it turned out.
Now I’m thinking HOLY SHIT THAT WAS SO LONG AGO, and wondering what I have to show for my life since then. Mental pictures of cities and faces, the smells (sorry) and sounds of Not Here. There is a line in a Miniature Tigers song that hit me like a freight train the first time I heard it, and it says:
“My body was an empty shell / with only tour stories to tell.”
But not as hard as when you told me:
“I think the whole time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you happy.”
The same sentiment, in different words.
Well, how about this. I was happy tonight. I was happy in the parking garage. I’m extremely happy for you, and I realize it’s my turn to start living in the not here.
