My girlfriend is riding around her hometown today. I keep picturing her in a red convertible but I know…that simply isn’t true. She has a silver VW.
She just graduated from Law School and I am so proud of her, not even as bf but as an individual.
I’m in my hometown also. Well, not exactly the same town but I’m in NJ.
The sole purpose of this post is to erase the shadow of the one before. lol.
I feel connected to her by virtue of our locations.
Home is sunny in the suburbs, its bright, the trees are brazen and green and they tower (unlike the city), they’re bursting with the music of carefully leaf coated hymns.
Hymns about nothing in particular.
I feel connected to her by thin string, some kind of soul bling, some inner desire to see through her, to see the glorious parking lots of her youth, her favorite bagel or sandwich place, that school park where she used to get drunk, the bump in the road that always pisses her off, and all the pretty houses that align the streets.
Do you ever desire to see through the eyes of someone you love, does your heart reach out like a Frisbee in your hometown? What’s your hometown like?
Cheers to that.
In the next few days I’ll ride by that 7/11 I hate on Morris Ave, that shit high school that built and broke my dreams, the cafe I worked at when I took time off school, my mom’s favorite Ice cream place, and Millburn and Maplewood, the beacon crock, the green giant’s leafy cock, this pit of Northern Jersey, half an hour from New York City.
Are we always destined to die and be reborn in our own hearts, like baby birds drowning in a bird bath of rose petals, while all I can do is wish I wasn’t such a saccharine sappy spiritual son of a bitch.
That’s why fiction is safer…
Is my love sweaty on the bank line, what color dress is she wearing, is her hair frizzy or straight?
Say it with me,
I Wanna Live
I Wanna Live
So stop lying, knock on wood, open all the damn windows,
Its all good.