Everyone has a sound.
No I don't mean a voiceI mean a sound.
The sound of a person. You don't hear it right away though, not like an introduction in an exchange of hands and names, but a sound, or sounds rather.
The sounds are almost rhythmic too, like patterns.
Every person has a sound or several sounds and if you can decipher them from each other, you can know just who's walked into the house, who is using the bathroom, who is in the kitchen.
The pace of her walking, across the hall, sounds different than mine and he,
knows them both, so well.
The person has a presence also, and if you are very good, you may not even need listen to the sounds of the person to tell who it is that's there without seeing them.
You just feel them.
She felt different than I,
we both, for him, felt the same.
It was like this, sounds and sounding in silence. Silences' sound a thick and noiseless layer that is the loudest of all except when interrupted by sounds both familiar and un ---
Could you imagine in a city as noisy and congested as this,
you could hear some nights, the rattle of the laundry machine, a near by shower, the sizzling ash of this three quarter smoked cigarette in the rain.
The sounds are almost rhythmic too, like patterns.
Every person has a sound or several sounds and if you can decipher them from each other, you can know just who's walked into the house, who is using the bathroom, who is in the kitchen.
The pace of her walking, across the hall, sounds different than mine and he,
knows them both, so well.
The person has a presence also, and if you are very good, you may not even need listen to the sounds of the person to tell who it is that's there without seeing them.
You just feel them.
She felt different than I,
we both, for him, felt the same.
It was like this, sounds and sounding in silence. Silences' sound a thick and noiseless layer that is the loudest of all except when interrupted by sounds both familiar and un ---
Could you imagine in a city as noisy and congested as this,
you could hear some nights, the rattle of the laundry machine, a near by shower, the sizzling ash of this three quarter smoked cigarette in the rain.
The rain. I can hear the rain.
Sometimes what I think I hear is the sound of passionate breath between breathless kisses is really just a leaking air conditioning unit.
No one makes love quietly any more. At least not in the whispered way that tells me we are the only two people who know we are here and we are the only two people who exist.
Us and our sounds.
I remember waking up one morning and feeling i could lay there all day long. Is this love? I thought. Or is it just too cold and snowy outside to imagine ever leaving this bed, this embrace?
I would know later, yes, it was love indeed. And that I do like winter. Because beds are warmer then. Or at least they feel warmer.
The sound of sheets. Oh! And then the smell....
Three pigeons come in the morning. For what, I do not know, except that they look perfectly placed and framed in that window, a grey and white speckled alley way, much like their own feathers.
The pigeons always sound like pigeons , their sometimes amusing coos that sound a lot like cat purrrrs. They will always give themselves away.
Sometimes what I think I hear is the sound of passionate breath between breathless kisses is really just a leaking air conditioning unit.
No one makes love quietly any more. At least not in the whispered way that tells me we are the only two people who know we are here and we are the only two people who exist.
Us and our sounds.
I remember waking up one morning and feeling i could lay there all day long. Is this love? I thought. Or is it just too cold and snowy outside to imagine ever leaving this bed, this embrace?
I would know later, yes, it was love indeed. And that I do like winter. Because beds are warmer then. Or at least they feel warmer.
The sound of sheets. Oh! And then the smell....
Three pigeons come in the morning. For what, I do not know, except that they look perfectly placed and framed in that window, a grey and white speckled alley way, much like their own feathers.
The pigeons always sound like pigeons , their sometimes amusing coos that sound a lot like cat purrrrs. They will always give themselves away.
