This morning it was tropical outside as it often is when the tradewinds of the gulf are blowing and the heat and humitidity find a balance with the breeze. It made me want to to outside and sit on the viranda or harvest bananas or pinapples or coconuts. And I wrote this in myhead to you as I often do where I can use all of the words including the magical and harmful words that are not always safe to use in real conversations and mail.
Even in my head to story is one of parallel worlds, a shared childhood separated by the thinnest vineer of distance and circumstance; the rarest of friendships would only come when we were welll set on another parallel path, separated by the inability to communicate over patterns that developed around us, the people who brought us together or forced us apart in equal measure.
I cannot know for certain if this is special or just that spell you cast over everyone around you. I would like to thinkit was something unique to us, a confirmation of the lost opportunities; but that would diminsh you a little, would say that you cannot bring that to everyone and would glorify my part in it which is the least noble and most selfish part; although I try to make amends to the universe at large or at least our part of it, to bring some little comfort to the dried bones of those children we were never able to have together though I wanted so badly to burden you with them.
I am editing again today, something which has been demanding my attention for some time but which I could not get to. I am also counting my time and it is not good although it could well change, with medicine, money and the mysery that is you, that was you, perhaps even the could be you; but I think time is running out. So for the moment, there is the tropical paradize that may vanish when the sun comes up and the work which has to be done and will only vanish when my bones begin to dry out.
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