Letters.

Re-reading Anais Nin.

Between the pages I found a three-year-old postcard from Trish when she was taking her post-grad studies in Australia.

I realized I missed writing letters.

We used to write to each other in high school to somehow splash more color to our long summer days.

Actual pieces of paper.

Actual stamps.

Actual waiting.

Actual gasp when the postman rings the bell.:)

Last Week.

Nothing monumental, but worthy of some note, I believe.

Hot Wednesday.

Funds taking too long to come through.

Man chasing another man with a long knife.

A policeman in civilian clothes drawing out his gun.

Almost-man-murderer passing by us.

_{Split-second-skipped-heartbeat.}

Confused assistants in school tossing me from one office to another.

Ride back to the studio.

Two old women chatting, smelling of old perfume.

A middle-aged female couple holding each other so sweetly. Sigh.

And three young women, quite boisterous the one girl with pink and green barrettes in her hair.

Beautiful skies and landscapes on the way back to the barrio I've missed...

--- End of Babble ---

Places I Haunt.

Light bathes the corners.
The looms' children are warm.
The walls listen and talk back.
_{Then cut off their ears and out their tongues.}

What They Died Of.

_{(Was not of)} A broken heart...

... but of a broken mind.

Jenny, that is why I cannot cry, nor die... ^^... for my mind is more whole now.

And perhaps this is the reason why I have a resident sunshine and an ever-cartwheeling girl inside of me.

I still find it surprising sometimes.:)