I close my door before I close my eyes. I transformed my couch into a bed, it is ready for my sleep mode, I am ready for my sleep mode. The person on the other end of my internal conversations is you, you being you, and you know who you are, you. Tonight, rather than pondering on past memories, of our moments together, I think of the future.
A sudden chill hits my skin, and though it is a cold thing that came from nowhere, all of sudden like, it is not a foreshadow, or at least not a deep dark (dark being bad) shadow, but rather a feeling of not knowing and feeling like something good is going to happen. When I close my eyes, when I rest my eye lashes against my eye lashes and they form a dying curl that dying spiders do, I think of another wind. This wind is strong, strong enough to blow you across the ocean, but doesn't push you over, no, it agrees with you, dances with you like a beautiful stranger at a tropical-theme dance party that is filled with good vibes (in other words, the best kind of dance party). On a hot day, it cools you just right, it even smells amazing for something that doesn't particular have a smell, it is kinda like water, something flavorless that has flavor because bottle water can never compete with a refreshing glass of water. Mixed in with the breeze is the scene, the sky, ocean, not a building in sight when you look up. The rustle of leaves from palms and such, the sound sand makes when it is being blown across a sandy beach. The sun, the way it melts things, colors them, brings a different life to things, how it gives you another life. I think of the difference of sun from where I am now, in Toronto, to the sun in India, how it just gives this glow, this color, and illuminates like no other. It is the same sun, but in different places, and perhaps that factors into the difference between cultures in a globalized world, the sun and the atmosphere. I can't help but let go, let go, let go of my old ways (OLD because I no longer be with them, OLD because I have grown over that old flesh of thought and method with fresh flesh, OLD because there are now rings over my rings if you were to cut me whole and see the log-like life I have lived, here see (lifts shirt, lifts skin, muscles and such, and even bones to show you a woody-core of man I am.)). Here, no longer in Toronto, no longer in the place you are in, is different, you see up there (points to the sun), don't look too deeply, but listen (comes closer), ah (speaks softer) here we are in a place that you cannot help but take it easy, to take one step then the other and never think or over think that next step, a simple 1, 2, 1, then 2. Life slows down, and here is where old folks can grow older because life is really slowed down. The sun is smiling like those Coke Cola cartoons, but I can't tell if he's where sunglasses (wouldn't they just be glasses to him?).
The swell of the ocean, I look at the sand stuck on your flesh, we're both baked, this feels good, it is absolute, no more cares, no more worries, everyday is everyday. Now sing it with me. Come-on come-on and do the local motion with me.
I pick up a seashell, it is big enough to swallow my ear whole, I tune out the rest of the world and listen deeply.
(you whisper, "come-on, come-on...")
The rest is history.