Drunk On Friendship And Spring Nights
It's one of those nights that I must shout some things from the proverbial rooftops.
Matthew and I were hanging out at my mom's tonight. We went on a long walk, literally, down memory lane. The moon was a sliver, and the stars were intensely visible, as if each pinprick of light was screaming light. The light mixed with the air to create a feeling that I only get when dreaming or nostaligic; it is enebriating. I have much more to say on the subject, but it's not the time.
At night, there is no picture more enticing to me than that of my mom's house glimpsed through the trees, when warm yellow light is streaming from every window, and the front garden is glowing as though alive. She has white Christmas lights up all year in the foyer and the living room, and something about the way the stucco walls, the copper stove hood, wooden chopping blocks, and the apricot floors in the kitchen collesce creates this weird, timeless, warm space that--well, it's just home.
We sat in that kitchen, and I read Matthew what poetry I had on my website, bathing in the warmth of literary appreciation, and when we drove back into town, he played me some songs he had recorded while he was in Hawaii last month. I was quite impressed. His guitar has gotten quite proficient, and his singing voice is startlingly unlike his speaking voice. His arrangements were impressive as well.
Somehow, when he and I hang out, he never fails to inspire me in some way. Tonight was no exception. He said a couple things. The first is that he passed onto me what Charlie Knowles told him years ago that inspired him to get better at the guitar; that Charlie was not a natural to music. Enter flabbergasted Tiffany. Charlie Knowles, not a natural? Definately something to think about. That, coupled with Matthew's own skill increase, makes me feel the desire to start practicing my scales.
The second thing he said is slightly more important to me. It started with his general appreciation of the poetry I was reading him at my mom's, but as I was about to drop him off, he gave me an awesomely precise compliment. He said that not only is my poetry "officially stamped" good, but that it is well crafted (as though somehow he knew that above anything, that is what I want people to tell me). He himself had experimented so much with free verse, stream of consciousness style poetry that he had a certain appreciation of just how well thought out and put together my poems are. It was a push that may have set me on the precipice of picking up my pen once again.
I am so grateful right now. There are people who are fused so inherently with my tissue that their slightest expression of approbation or worry can cause such avalanches of change in me. So while I'm drunk on the elixer of spring nights and dream walks, thank you all for your lustrous presences in my life. I became one of the luckiest people in the world when you all decided to love me and let me love you.
Matthew and I were hanging out at my mom's tonight. We went on a long walk, literally, down memory lane. The moon was a sliver, and the stars were intensely visible, as if each pinprick of light was screaming light. The light mixed with the air to create a feeling that I only get when dreaming or nostaligic; it is enebriating. I have much more to say on the subject, but it's not the time.
At night, there is no picture more enticing to me than that of my mom's house glimpsed through the trees, when warm yellow light is streaming from every window, and the front garden is glowing as though alive. She has white Christmas lights up all year in the foyer and the living room, and something about the way the stucco walls, the copper stove hood, wooden chopping blocks, and the apricot floors in the kitchen collesce creates this weird, timeless, warm space that--well, it's just home.
We sat in that kitchen, and I read Matthew what poetry I had on my website, bathing in the warmth of literary appreciation, and when we drove back into town, he played me some songs he had recorded while he was in Hawaii last month. I was quite impressed. His guitar has gotten quite proficient, and his singing voice is startlingly unlike his speaking voice. His arrangements were impressive as well.
Somehow, when he and I hang out, he never fails to inspire me in some way. Tonight was no exception. He said a couple things. The first is that he passed onto me what Charlie Knowles told him years ago that inspired him to get better at the guitar; that Charlie was not a natural to music. Enter flabbergasted Tiffany. Charlie Knowles, not a natural? Definately something to think about. That, coupled with Matthew's own skill increase, makes me feel the desire to start practicing my scales.
The second thing he said is slightly more important to me. It started with his general appreciation of the poetry I was reading him at my mom's, but as I was about to drop him off, he gave me an awesomely precise compliment. He said that not only is my poetry "officially stamped" good, but that it is well crafted (as though somehow he knew that above anything, that is what I want people to tell me). He himself had experimented so much with free verse, stream of consciousness style poetry that he had a certain appreciation of just how well thought out and put together my poems are. It was a push that may have set me on the precipice of picking up my pen once again.
I am so grateful right now. There are people who are fused so inherently with my tissue that their slightest expression of approbation or worry can cause such avalanches of change in me. So while I'm drunk on the elixer of spring nights and dream walks, thank you all for your lustrous presences in my life. I became one of the luckiest people in the world when you all decided to love me and let me love you.
posted by Tiffany at 12:25 AM
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