I don't even know how you got me to write you. I hate my writing, and I'm tired of you being so modest. I can never commit to it. Commit isn't the right word. I should say I don't believe in it enough, maybe. I believe enough in my writing to show it to myself and write it in the first place, but past that it gets a little hazy. How do you put yourself out there?
Speaking of that: Why are you doing that to yourself again? Just stop, she's not worth it, they rarely ever are. I'd tell you again, there's someone out there for you, but I know you don't want to hear it. Maybe something will change.
I keep waiting for something to change. There has to be some sort of sign, even though I'm not really religious, not by any stretch of the imagination. Someday.
I keep waiting for that sign though. I stare out of windows: on the bus, on the subway, on the train, in cars, everywhere. I stare out of windows and look for my reflection in the world.
It was sunny today. Here in Brno when the sun comes shining through- in the spring- you get to sit out on the grassy hills that surround old statues. If you pick the right hill and the right spot you can see the whole city, all of it. You can see the busses, and trucks. On clear days I imagine I can see into the windows of buildings, and into the lives of these people. I know you're tired of me saying this, but I don't want to come back.
Some nights a deep mist descends on the city. When this happens I feel like I'm walking through a fairy tale, but nobody has to rescue me, or they already have. On those nights I go out walking with the slovenian. I'm not going to tell you his name again, you won't ever meet him in person, so what's the point?
What I'm trying to get at, maybe, is that back in America, back in the midwest, I was never fascinated like I am here. The life here, is what I love. The books, the philosophy, every morsel, I love it all. Even, and by that I mean especially, the language, when some one falls in love with a language they've fallen in love with a place. This might be that sign I stared out so many windows for.
Walking in the mists,
Staring out of the windows,
Seeing clearly now,
K
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