new love

It is Sunday night, or more specifically early Monday morning, though technicalities are less important than gut feelings, and there is something—the play of the entire weekend—that I am trying to digest and capture. Today was by far the most interesting, which is not to downplay Friday or Saturday, but to emphasize the craziness of the past twenty-four hours. But as with most climaxes, one must first be built up, warmed and stretched and guided along the journey in much the same way it was produced in order to appreciate it for all its merits and ferly. I am not sure I am up to the task, at least not at this very moment. But the intensity of today’s events has made me strike pen to page if, for nothing else, the tranquility it engenders, the peaceful white noise of steel tip to treated paper, the scratch and the black ink left behind that is evidence of the mind’s nebulous thoughts and memories, its habits and capacities, its biases and its invisible facets that help to constitute the idiosyncratic gem in each of us that some people like to call the soul. No, I cannot possibly begin to chronicle this weekend, the weekend before Halloween, when the leaves have started to change colors and the weather is warm enough to enjoy cold beer outdoors and cold enough for worn sweaters and snuggling. This spontaneous trip with friends new and old, with tragedy and uncertainty and lots and lots of laughter. The kind of laughter that fills your belly and hurts your jaw…

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  • Hannah

    Just perfect.

  • Dan

    Man, seriously… you are a great writer.