Tonight was such a ridiculously perfect evening. I had my favorite new sweater on and found myself high up in the balcony with my back against the wall (safety and a little box: what is not to love?!) with such a good heart sitting next to me as we watched one of my favorite authors read. It's odd because it's not so much that I think he is an amazing writer as I think he is an amazing storyteller. I could listen to the cadence of his voice for hours, and I have.
More importantly, he read a piece having to do with an author who made me weep with his description on numerous, numerous occasions. "Words so beautiful that they wound", indeed.
So, there I was, sitting up there in the dark in my favorite soft sweater tearing up listening to what was more or less a love poem that one of my favorite authors had written to one of my all time favorite writers. I was in total literary heaven. The tears that balanced on my lashes were fat and real. The words that have saved my life have saved my life on more than one occasion.
*
I have taken to pinning the tiny, aged Saint Sebastian medal to the inside of my jacket facing my chest. A hidden story and homosexual icon that only I can see. It conjures the smells of the church I grew up in with all of its dark wood and stained glass the color of jewels.
I talk to you even though you aren't around anymore.
Surely no one can fault me for the smile it brings to my face.
k.
(image: Salvador Dalí — The Eye of Time, 1949, platinum, rubies, and diamonds)
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