Lunatic Fringe

It’s late, the music keeps the time, endures, as the hours pass. I feel your voice like the touch of your skin, soft and slow. Sometimes it feels like drowning, but if there are fates worse than a death like this, I care not to know. We take guesses, we make promises, things we’ll do, places we’ll go, time ticks, despite these wishes. Your eyes are quiet, like the darkness you’ll soon go out in to; my heart is on fire, for me a light, like your laughter. We’re not supposed to realize there are so many things we’ll never know. I worry about you, but then I’ve worried about everything I’ve ever loved. Every reason, every feeling, every firework you’ve burned within me, they’re still there. You move slow across my mind, clouds in the sky in the summer you are, sometimes. And somewhere in the corner of my eye I catch a memory, and I swear it’s like I just found you. Sometimes you just stay there, maybe I can’t look away. It worries me to I think it’s a sin to care still; I guess I always w

Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn't tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted "We want Ted" for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters. John Updike March 18, 1932 – January 27, 2009

And there are moments when you see the whole world, in a way you'd never imagine, though just as it's forever been. It's not the world that's different, just you, just a different point of view. And you're caught in that moment, even as the world is still spinning, an indelible moment in a world of incessant change. And it all matters because it's the love of something, something temporal, something forever fleeting. In the mean time the world carries on as before, the briefest of sunsets like a knowing wink to wit that even this too will someday change. There's an idea that it should all be different- the world as it is, and love- to be the other way around. But maybe everything should be just exactly as it is. At least just for now. And I wonder if this is something I'll remember for the rest of my life.