I start writing, literally have paragraphs typed out and a subject line and something twists inside me and I stop. I keep trying to explain my life here, how much I love it, but I have the same words I did before, and a thesaurus does no good.
A weekend:
Friday is work-beach–Transformers.
Start Saturday with a trip to Bahji, delight in an engagement (congrats!), wander Akka with girlfriends, go to a dinner party where I laugh so hard it hurts.
I watched the Shrine of the Báb from a rooftop as the sun went down and we said prayers for someone who had left this world for the next one. I watched the perfect color of Persian tea reflect torchlight, and I began to understand that these are the times that things matter. I sat in a café and thought about everything and nothing.
This is my life, after 7 months.
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4 thoughts on “Try to summarize”
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“I watched the perfect color of Persian tea reflect torchlight…”
I love this line. Light passing through tea is one of the most beautiful things in the world to me. Seriously, as I sip my tea I constantly raise my glass and gaze lovingly through it, admiring its elegant translucence.
There is a reason Perisan tea is usually served in a glass…
Beautiful imagery of the Shrine and tea glass. I can relate to the way a thesaurus is painfully inadequate at finding words to convey thought and meaning.
i had the same words as i did before…
there’s a hint of a smile on their faces,
knowing i have no choice just but to use them.
i opt for a sigh instead.
i look at me feet.
i try and show people what i mean by exhibiting my hands,
the stillness in my eyes.
no gets it.
my words chargs a cent more per syllable.
(opportunists)
i can’t bargain them down.
they beat me each time.
i slouch into a corner.
take my wallet from out my heart
and begin to mummble incoherently.
my words are stale.
out of fashion.
they have slinters on them-
are light as cheap wood.
they’re rarely recieved correctly.
they’re utterly useless for communication.
the things i feel too big for them.
i’m too broke to use anything else.
i haven’t another key in my sack.
words are everything.
i am the victim and the captor.
if i ever cried- it would be a stream of words.
they line my arteries.
i’m invisible but for them.