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So here I am, sitting amidst a cold half-cup of coffee, unaddressed half-writen love poems, books choking me from all sides except up, and looking at the light filtering from the blinds for salvation.
Sunday moring. Time for nothing, for sermons and introspection, for God and his earthly assistants (praise the lord, pass the wallet), for omlettes and bacon,
(for an atheist such qualitative classifications mean little) and for catching up on the world.
A week away and a few time zones later, a muggy day unfolds in other parts.
I remember their future, sweat and choke and go blind in my timeless wandering.
Did I mention I met two school friends? I came back with two realizations, the ghosts of the past must be buried, things change and always look forward, for backward lie death traps, complexes and inadequacies. Good advice for all of us,
I think.
One Sunday long time ago, I sat queitly at John F. Kennedy's gravesite and watched the eternal flame in rain. Today, I just sit.
