Hardwood Floors and Quiet. (For Monica)

Our lives got quiet then.

We have finished having the kinds of parties where everyone dances until five in the morning, where the punch bowls get spilt on the floor and by the end people have given up on mixing drinks all together because nobody really does know who that one guy in the suit is and we aren’t sure whose locked themselves up in the downstairs bedroom, but chances are they don’t live here and does anybody know why Jodi is taking her panties off in the stairwell again? And we don’t throw parties, don’t throw much of anything. Don’t need to.

Our lives got knit-a-sweater quiet.
Cut the corn off the cob kind of quiet.
Quiche and Frittata and knowing the difference quiet.

We have finished with the lost boys. The ones we fucked to keep them quiet and then sent home before the sun came in the window because we needed our sleep. Done with the recycled boys who took turns being something that was better than nothing between the sheets and when we looked up we laughed because we knew and they knew that it wasn’t more than just a little breathing in between the sex and a little sex in between this living and anyway. those days are lost. we washed those sheets and hung em up.

Our lives got quiet then.
Clothesline quiet.
And real love quiet. Like bringing coffee to them, sitting in the same room and just watching the rain fall with socks on cos the hard wood floors are cold. Quiet.

And we don’t have to search anymore. We aren’t older, really.
We got years left and questions left and
we are young still. and vibrant. and full.
maybe fuller.

We have finished with the loud. With the noise and the busy that makes bars and short dresses seem like a good idea. That makes too much for too long sound like fun. We are older then, in all the right ways. But no, we are younger too.

Old enough to stop pretending to be old, I guess.
And it is quiet here. I brought this tea to you. I want to drink it by the white-walled window and watch it rain on the Bellingham Bay.
You are older now. I guess we all keep doing that.

Comments

  1. Beth22 September, 2009 16:22

    I am in love with this.

    You should be published.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Patience Marie03 November, 2009 14:40

    I love you.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Unknown03 January, 2010 20:49

    i just read this...it is amazing. it is a fact that i may love it.

    ReplyDelete

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