Patch of green

I see our time as a patch of green. I see you as an apple falling from a tree onto my head and into my lap, during that one enchanted evening. I see myself then under a spell. A bottle of tequila. A worm cut in two. But the real magic is that which lasts long after the spell has worn off. The real magic is an early morning cup of fruit-tinged brew. Absent laughter and other precious things. Notes sent back and forth. La la la la la. Whatever. I was happy. These I will never forget.

But the patch of green has since become a patch of rusty brown.

And you, the apple, are gone.

All I am left with is a copy. An ornament.

A distant memory. Heavier. Duller.

No taste. No Smell. No magic. Just heavy stuff to weigh me down.

This is what I’ve been carrying with me.

But this is me now standing up and leaving the patch of rusty brown.

And this is me leaving behind the ornament.

Not the apple.

It’s not like it’s a choice. It’s not like I ever had any choices.

It’s waking up. It’s living life. It’s walking on.

And where I’m going, I can’t afford the extra weight.

__________

At lunchtime today, I went to the book sale table and saw two of my all-time favourite books for $5.95 each. They were:

Slaughterhouse V by Kurt Vonnegut
The Solitaire Mystery by Jostein Gaarder

I've always wanted to share my favourite books with other people who may be interested but have just never come across them. These two are stellar books. So here's the deal: if you genuinely wish to read one of them on my recommendation, and be willing to discuss it with me at some point in the future, tell me and I'll buy you a copy. First come first serve. That's it.