These days the seas and I are cordial. These days I stow my memories in currents who from time to time subside to lay a deeper witness of the patterns in the sand I’ve barely walked. These days I make acquaintances with ocean swells above the trenches of forgotten moments stirring, abandoned memoirs written when the tide was high and left to drown in undertoes unread.

It’s in the rivers under bridges that a story’s told. It’s in the images below the surface moving swiftly past, where whims thought empty travel by with weight once falsely judged. It’s caught behind the slipstreams of contingencies where outcomes take on water for a moment and emerge too far behind a chance’s wake, where epilogues provisioned by the spray of rapids falling white upon the wild skeins of fleeting instants vanish disappointed.

This time the rain comes down to greet me. This time the clouds precipitate as hindsight of the sunny days before they drained and evanesced to leave me steeped in deja vu. This time the thunderheads speak kindly of concluded years when fondness for regret was emblamatic of a climate too concerned with passing weather, when sunlight blistered past and left the overcast to loiter. This time the downpour is awash with gratitude because in storming it resuscitates the flowers wilted by a sadness in the fiction that I sometimes tell. This time the truth behind the narrative is that the weather’s clearer than it was this morning and the water’s good to drink.

#rome #italy

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