A friend of mine from Huntspatch is coincidentally staying at a hostel two blocks from my hotel in San Francisco. It’s been years and she’s still as beautiful and wonderful as ever. We shared sushi and walked around this glorious, crazy city. I’m still bathed in enthusiasm after we talked about the magic of words and manifesting your will and the rejuvenation of travel. I feel as though a fog has lifted off my spirit.
I wish Julie were here. I wish she could see me now as I see myself, in full bloom. Or maybe she already does and I refuse to believe it. I wish the darkness didn’t build up inside me till my broken spirit limps into her arms looking for salvation. I wish she could’ve seen my friend tonight. My friend has that magic that rubs off on people who endure the South but learn to leave before that magic becomes a crushing burden. I wish I hadn’t seen so much of the world alone. All that beauty and passion is an untranslatable phrase locked in my head. But if Julie had been with me she’d know it the way I do. Right now she’s half a world away in Taiwan having her own adventures.
I did go through two bottles of wine with a couple co-workers at dinner earlier tonight. I blame the wine for my conversation with the exotic dancer on the street corner who told me how good I looked and that it’s okay to take girls to her club. But the rest of the night was all real.
Last modified on 2007-12-04