The stranger that I walked with (Boston 2)

When I think of Boston, I remember the smell so well. And the stranger that I walked with, I hardly remember what I saw. But it's there somewhere in memory...like the cold rolls down from the hill, and there's a shiver I've had this whole frenzied week still. This weary body settling soon into the weekend and a different kind of quiet.






...

November tides.

Sometimes the tide changes. Sometimes you don’t recognize - any face you’ve ever met anew - cause the world, is movin’ all the time. But you and me and November — we’re still the same. 

The silence and the miles — and California — everything that I don’t know, of all your 9 lives now. Out there wild. 

Just a never could be, now that it was — and I have known it. Known the thing worth missing — and a soul that’s true — a history that causes you to swear; if we met tomorrow how I would smile. And we would know each other still, despite it all. 

So where have you been babe? Cause I’ve wasted time, and made some things, — kissed a few and tried — missed everything at the end of each. Dreamed at the ends again of you. Lies and strangers, how they seem — like meant-to-be, and then, like nothing, all at all. Yes I’ve travelled, with quiet touch, over unfamiliar streets and skin...and yes I forgot for awhile and moved on. 

But there’s always a nighttime under the milk way — with a story to tell you — that I’d rather spend as us. 

That’s where I have been this second long year on — and it’s that sharp elegant month again. That commemorative time where I do think — of every circle I’ve made backwards. Every way in which, with the candles burning -- we stripped everything off back then. And how maybe that won't go. Maybe that's my lack of communication's cause unto. That's the one to beat. 

Or maybe I’m just writing make believe and metaphors, for those cold winter mornings all ahead. Maybe love — is some sweet strange combination of all the breaks you felt the Earth into, and there's magic — in a few different favorite hearts that you made all up into one. Combine it all — and hide from the rest — unto one great masterpiece, and see — life is funny dear. 

And wonderful. 

And that's the only good lie.

There’s beauty still ahead. Most importantly there’s the next you and me, who time has made of all of us  — time, time again for home… Can’t wait to see it tell. To tell a story to my children, of how it all went up — to November and to hope.

To moving to the sea.

...

throwback, last november

We put our armors down finally, for all these battles -- final. Heavy and heaving in sweat there's just the end, been crossed. How did we get this far? How is it that I can truly call you a friend.

To hell and back - we've survived.






.