Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.
Issue link: https://loumag.epubxp.com/i/453014
88 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 2.15 pitbulldogsarefamily.org Day, go fgure. Your heart is in your stom- ach, and then your stomach disappears. You are two things: 1.) jealous (you want that mountain healing!); 2.) surprisingly sad (here goes hope, walking of this trail to Telluride). It seems unjustifed, this hollow; unallowable. Feel yes, feel no, look right, look left. E Tis will continue between you and Mike. Tis whatever it is. Dating? No. You don't know. Sorry if you've failed everyone out there. It's a haphazard chop and your boat ain't other boats. Tere is no advice to give. Tere is only the pitter-pattering that perseveres, increases. Tere is the Magbooth holiday party at Eiderdown, where his arm is sweet around your shoulder, then on your thigh when you play I-Spy, him guessing your blue goose fgurine frst eye. Tere is a bluebird in your heart that wants to get out; that one Bukowski poem you like. Tere is singing in the empty Jefersonville streets after pie. Tere is the "Romantic Roll" at Osaka. Tere is grabbing hands across the table. Tere is psychologist Arthur Aron's series of intimate questions that make you less like outsiders, asking about mother, death, gratefulness, each other. Tere is so much learning. Tere is intellectual blabber, sharing Atlantic articles. Tere are the words "quixotic" and "syzygy." Tere is quiet. Tere is the cold night that isn't so cold anymore. Tere is closeness in the kitchen which feels like dancing, you on his back. Tere are apples. Tere are pigeons. Tere are strangers asking him about his wild girl, saying you two look so happy, in love. Tere is, "I know." Tere is drawing in the backyard on the sing-song shiny day. Tere are you two at the park on a picnic table with wine and Wings and Michael saying, "Tanks, Paul McCa- rtney." Tere is less doubt. Tere is him singing Lou Reed's "Perfect Day." Tere is you singing Loudon Wainwright III's "New Paint." Tere is the message to the editor, saying sorry, the fnal will be late, been riding the love boat all weekend. Tere's the realization that whatever this is doesn't have to last, shouldn't. Tere is the dream of never holding back dreams. Tere is a note of address for postcards. Tere is the wave that will break. Tere is you wrapped in your ocean-blue ham- mock, thinking it's not about having or keeping, just experiencing. Tere is the breeze that rocks you, the pull of the moonlight. Tere is the sun coming up and the clouds looking like sea waves to- ward sky shore. Tere is everything, then there is nothing. Tere is yes, there is yes, there is yes.