on a random note i love eggs benedict. so so much. today i recalled our flat brunch to this small quaint cafe in the middle of grassmarket/ haymarket/ the middle of nowhere, on a lazy saturday morning, where we had eggs benedict and they started to play live jazz (in the middle of the day?!) and it was just perfect. asmuch as i only remember the good bits, of course we all know nothing can ever be perfection itself, but that day, that day was pretty much close to it.
There are things to be said. No doubt.
And in one way or another
they will be said. But to whom tell
the silences? With whom share them
now? For a moment the sky is
empty and then there was a bird.
—from "There Are Things to be Said" by Cid Corman
there are so many things i want to say, but i dont dare to, because of everything that ever occured, or didn't. maturity doesnt necessarily make you happier, more stable, cooler, more successful in your endeavors, or whatever.
so it goes.
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