Somewhere inside other people's stories

2005-08-05 - 1:59 p.m.

Some stories are so beautiful it's hard to focus on them for long without aching, thinking that maybe you are missing something, you and your silent keyboard. These other people's stories march through your head, strong as your own memories.

I'd forgotten about the backs of my knees and here, five years down the line, you remind me that you've never forgotten. There's still too much water between us.

I look at the men here and I cringe at spelling errors, bitterness and stereotypes. As I get older, I screen them out earlier. Instead I stick with the genuine ones, in dark theaters, taprooms and somewhere back behind third base. There's distance between us here, too, but at least what I do find will be good.

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Pretend it's 10th grade. Leave me a note.

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