The porch goes all the way around the house. I walk out of the living room, people converse under the verandah in clusters and I mingle on through to the empty side. I watch the leaves recoil and jump when a fat raindrop hits them directly, and listen to the murmur of conversation from around the corner. I like being alone but I also want to be found, if not by you then I guess one of the others would do. It doesn't matter if it is the tall one, or the sympathetic one, or the one who has trouble hearing, like me; it doesn't matter who if it isn't you, but it does matter that no-one does find me.
Oh, so nice, Julia. Both images and words are special.
ReplyDeleteI am sad that I did not find you, even though I am not the one you truly want. I, also, wandered from place to place and conversation to conversation most of the weekend. All I really wanted the whole time was for people to sit together and write. You perfectly captured the wet green of it.
ReplyDeleteDear god, Julia, this is marvelously voiced. It stings, as it should, but rather than recoil and remain silent while I curse my own social ineptness (and dependence on cigarettes to drive much of my interactions), I have to applaud your extraordinary writing. So many times this weekend, I gazed your way and thought how fortunate the person will be who wakes up next to you. Though I've done a piss-poor job of showing it, I'm thrilled to have met and spent time in your company. I do sooo hope you'll be a part when we can scrap together the money to cross the pond.
ReplyDeleteI have read this umpteen times, never without pain; I am probably not the main culprit but I know I failed at times to fully interact, with others as well as with you. But - your words here, as elsewhere most certainly indicate that you retrieved something from the occasion which you have most eloquently shared.
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