fromthemouthofmoi

Attempts are often made by guests to my home to offer me advice and to persuade me to make improvements to my home which have proven satisfactory elsewhere. Other people-- I've never been inclined to be. More than once it has been suggested that I need to install panes of thick glass in order to block the various sounds from outside. Each time this tip passes my ear, I smile vaguely, with such subtlety that I am sure my inner response goes unnoticed. Inside my head are all sorts of responses: That's the kind of guy that swears he can hear mice pissing on cotton behind walls, or, that person needs to get a job as a sonar technician on a submarine. I like sound. I acquire a level of comfort from the peripheral hum that resonates from outside my window and enters my life without any engagement or assistance from me. It enables me to be a part of life without being involved. I suppose having spent most of my life living in New York City my wiring has been arranged in such a way

It seems you left us on your wintery day. I can only sit here and wonder what kind of courage it takes. Is it courage or weariness? Is it wires crossed or having witnessed too many horrors in one short life? I don't know. Was it the shaking of your bed that bought you to your precipice? I just don't know... But in my own very bones, I know you left. If I had one more conversation with you it would only be to say goodbye. I wouldn't stop you, I'd just want to tell you how much you meant to me. How a warm glow emanated when you passed by. How I saw myself in you. How hard I tried to get you to see that life can move past war. When I read the letters you wrote to your wife I am struck by your insight. You actually understood yourself! What didn't you understand? Of all the people one might wish to drop dead, you weren't one of them. Of all the people I have known I feel a tremendous loss. You lost but I lost too. Something about you felt familiar. You felt li