Things that slip through our fingers

AND ALL THAT.

Photo by Mo Ringey

Photo by Mo Ringey

Tonight it is raining, and hard. It makes me think of the butterfly effect. I sat in the alley and tried to better feel and absorb the rain, and while I shouted into the phone over the pounding rain to a fellow virgo that I’d just had sushi with to celebrate our virgoan births, I had this precise sensation of something slipping through my fingers and so I consciously let go and then I looked, hard, at my fingers and I focused, and I realized there was nothing there, and there had perhaps never been anything there, and I realized how precarious and beautiful life is. The feeling was so physical, though, and not like other feelings had before.

And how elusive and how ethereal. And is.  And could be. I feel disappointed when the rain lessens and I feel, at the same time, sorry for people who don’t enjoy the rain. But I revel nonetheless. And I wait for it to reach an aggressive crescendo again. A delicious cleansing crescendo.

I re-mull a surrealish and beautiful hours long conversation yesterday with a childhood friend. And that I heard only yesterday that my former high school-into-college puppy love, teen idol-like boyfriend had started a business cleaning houses in a g-string and I don’t feel settled; I don’t feel hilarity, I feel sad. And segueing from this, I recall that day in the cafeteria at college way back when I knew it was over because of a pair of squirrely facial uncomfortabilities and averted glances and how I knew this was the end; this reconvening at the tables in the cafeteria at our college, and how his best friend shared a look of chagrin with me because he sensed it as well. And how I could not get past the fact that they, he and the button girl, had gone to smoke a joint in his van and had come back all squirmy and wearing an aura of guiltishness, and how that button had haunted me for the reminder of that semester: that button she wore that said, “I’ll do anything with anyone at anytime, just ask” and how that, and the look on their faces, was how I knew. I remember the smell of it.

And so I go back outside to the alley to listen to the rain. And I watch the rain wash away the residue of the grout of my last project and perhaps the thoughts I am rprocessing and I wonder how much the rain can actually wash away and I wonder. And I am glad I have shelter.

One Response to “Things that slip through our fingers”

  1. Nothing slips through my fingers every day. Bittersweet lamenty fresh breath.

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