In this city I’ve never lived I have walked these streets countless times. My jaunts were spent first with crews, then my own thoughts, and for a few years now friends with whom we are freeing our relationship from time and space. Today I walked with one down the sun-stroked sidewalk lined with desert plants and quiet tiny homes west of the University. The human scale of the street holds us firmly, and our minds can be free and at ease to riff and laugh and stitch together understandings of shared events. The sheer number of events human beings experience is formidable when considered, and they serve as raw material to be related to, or organized in a schema, or just acknowledged as you like. The country and the world have always been engaged in this ancient process—of events and the creation of responses to them—but now are dared to become more conscious of it than in times past. The visibility of reality is at an all-time high and our collective mechanisms of denial are straining under its force.
I walk with him down this street and we try our hand at this dreaming. We try and make meaning out of friends lost and ground gained and felt potential in a way that both soothes our hearts and stokes fire to light our latent faculties. Our affection and respect is palpable to the point of having a texture, as is its connection to the greater force that keeps humans safe from themselves. She spoke of love, I told him. I know, he says. Use the present tense. Be grateful for what was and it again becomes what is.
We are writing ourselves out of heartbreak.