are you going to scarborough?

2003-11-07, 12:03 a.m.

welcome home my old friend, i have not seen you in so many months. your shoes are wet from walking the streets, and all i can do for you is bring some tea, or a blanket.

you told me once that the city lights made rain more sweet. i didnt believe you, fearing that the city had only infected it with the acrid smell of vomit, but tonight i found you were right. my eyes felt cold when they looked up, those clouds glowed with an aflourescent glow, yellow on the horizon, shifting towards a hazy purple. on the tongue, my awaited connection with a suicidal h2o drop was sugary; watermellon in the summer.

now the friends hang out on the stoop, Simon says the memores of the past settle like dust on their shoulders. i saw him tonight, and mr. Garfunkel as well. in the beginning, i could have sworn i felt 35 years of the past spun into my mind, dots and dots of crying joy for an unexpected reunion.