Thinking of Paris

25 Nov

It felt good to have my window open

the night sky and the cold rain

gave my apartment  a sense of time and place.

 

Trying to process my thoughts–

everything felt so jumbled together.

Softly wondering what 15 yr old me would think

if he knew that 20 years would barely change anything.

I still preferred watching sports to social interaction

and still jerking off more than what is considered healthy.

 

But 15 yr old me could have never imagined

the irregular path that he would travel 

to get to this point today.

And control, yes–I finally had control.

The biggest tragedy of my teenage years

was a lack of autonomy.

 

Paris couldn’t have been further away

than when I was living in Texas as a kid.

At least now it is a viable thought

less abstract,

but mostly a fantasy,

involving a beautiful woman

and literary groupies inside

cramped coffee shops

and bookstores.

 

But I’d read the headlines.

Saw the footage.

Even cried a little.

Friday the 13th brought in a gloom

that kept hanging.

Everyone so unnerved

because the illusion had finally been shattered.

 

The world has never been safe

for Muslims, for Jews, for Africans, For Arabs.

 

We have to treat each other better.

There is no way around it.

Which means I have to learn to treat others better too.

 

I still have not been to France.

But I will go someday–hopefully

on someone else’s dime.

and when I’m looking into the eyes

of my good company,

we can clink our wine glasses together

and I can tell her about this moment;

staring out of my apartment window on a rainy night,

thinking about the attacks

and how that event affected me.

 

~Edward Austin Robertson

 

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