Alright. I think it’s officially sunk in that I was recently whisked away on an escapade to Italy for a week of utter bliss and incomparable romance. My relationship with the luthier has essentially evolved beyond language.
I’m settling into life, it’s strange. I still have itchy feet and tend to be short with my spoken words – alas, my world is entirely different. Like, everything is completely different.
I was trying to explain this to my besty David last night. He reckons I’m dreary and that I should be in all of my literal glory at the moment. I don’t think I’m dreary, I’m adjusting. I forgot what being happy was like.
The luthier goes out of his way to make me happy; to an extent where a gesture of reciprocation in my shaky-jawed shock just doesn’t even seem feasible to me. How do you say, “Yo, thanks…” to someone who falls from the sky and saves your life?
I’m going to try to cook him dinner tonight. I’m certain it won’t be as delicious as what he cooked for me during the week – but I’ll have a crack.
The idea of a new poetry edition keeps floating to the front of my head. It’s been four years. That’s a lot of poetry floating around. It’s nice to have some collections in spines. Even when they’re edited by yours truly with various spectrums of typos.
I digress. It’s hot and sticky in the city. I’m enjoying the sweat of the last days of summer. Cold comes quick in these parts and it sticks around.
For now, I’m going to listen to hip hop and wander around the streets. Midtown is no Italy – but it’s not too shabby either. Everything seems to look better and brighter to me these days.