The night is rich and it is pleasant. Hugs me in a green glow only cameras know to catch. The day is a haze, stitched together with love – for food, for companionship, for something. My fingers curl and they extend; there is something I cannot grasp. There are young people out tonight. They are celebrating their youth. I avert my eyes because youth is foolish and grasping and lonely. It is understanding appetites that cannot be curtailed. Because they are young and they are only beginning to know how much they hunger.
Today, I tried to remember a book I did not understand when I was a teenager. It’s a terribly lonely book about terribly lonely people. It fills the air around me with a sort of dreadful melancholy. Yet I push past pages. I want to learn how to read again.
Some things haven’t changed. I still want to change the world. But it is recalcitrant because its inhabitants grow hungrier. Can one die for a thousand? Can the appetites of the rich be starved for the poor? Can we all starve for some force out there that flickers more dimly?
As ever, my feelings sit uneasily in my chest as a defiant hope pulls me into alignment.
And I kiss the cat who is not mine and curl on a sofa that is to live some imaginary life.