My Backyard City

I should not have watched “Blue Valentine” alone.  To be fair, I didn’t know the premise of the film before I bought my ticket.  And in all honesty, I still don’t know what it was about beyond the bloom and sudden decay of a marriage.  It was part tribute, part hope, and then something else entirely.  I don’t think I can begin to siphon it into words and thoughts quite yet.  Maybe never.  It would have been a pretty weird date movie, but I wish I’d been with a date nonetheless.

My favorite movies always dish out a handful of scenes like sponges.  As I think about them and add the water of my attention, they expand and provide the rest of the story.   I couldn’t say if the events I’m fabricating between the actual scenes are what would have happened, but they give the story a body.  For me, at least.

No one was at home to meet me.  I want nothing more than a pair of arms around mine and two murmuring lips at my ear. I would tell you, “things won’t be that way for us someday” because I hope they never will.  I hope we never try to hide from our words and I never think we can.

I was thankful for the beauty of my walk home, as I frequently am.  Though I could see my breath, there was something to be said for the way its tranquility matched my mind.  The parking lot that is my backyard, the greenhouses that are my garden, and the freeway that could almost be a river if you gave it enough imagination, were all here to greet me.  The kitchen lights were on and the kettle was filled last night.  My tea is kicking in.

The only thought I get before I sleep is “wouldn’t the world be an interesting place if need and love were the same?”

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