all things scarved

i am so glad you wrote.

i know i seemed confident, but i was actually nervous beyond nervous about giving you the story. and was wondering if you'd reply. and how.

and yeah it is autobiographical and a wee piece of my heart on my sleeve, but also not consciously what i feel day to day.

i suppose.

without weighing down your load already by now stacked with snow gear, it is more something i deal with from afar, or in the (other) corners of my life when i am not distracted by my peripheral vision. or when i am not thinking about my grand parents busying themselves with things that remind me they are no longer my grandparents, or only my grandparents. now they are old, and mortal, and no longer there just to spoil me.

after i sent it to you i realised there was another way to say it. to have said it. richard ford did when he said “it might seem that i was ‘within myself’ then. but in fact i was light years away from everything.”

that conjures something unnamed in me that i had reserved for re-acquainting with an old school-friend thought lost forever, or a crush harboured but never amounting to much more than a few journal entries, or a stolen look at a tram stop, or one given to you near the ‘100 best film’ section at your local video library.

i can’t imagine myself there with you in a week's time. if i had to choose, would i rather look forward to it, or back on it? i wish i was there now doing neither, nor. the time i spend knowing i will soon be somewhere else makes the present feel clumsy and redundant. that’s how it feels.

now anyway.

i should send this because you may have already left. but drive safe if you haven't (and of course if you have), or passenge safe if the first turn behind the wheel isn't yours.

i hope the week-end you have, is even better than the one you have planned.

see you in a week,

emily beside herself.