the blues and the reds
Most of us suffer from the blues. Holly Golightly suffered from the mean reds, I take on the blues and the reds in these stories.
They got married in the last month of winter, when it looked like the rain had no plans to go away and the clouds tinged the sky grey. There was no one in the cathedral except the two of them and the figures in the frescoes. They said their vows through furtive glances, promising each other a life of instances measured not by the time on the clock but by the gaze in their eyes. They both thought the kiss felt like a goodbye kiss before they ran, holding hands, to eat red velvet cake under the pale moonlight, while watching life pass by.
You know when you get the blues or the mean reds? The blues and the reds — whatever you want to call them — well, there isn’t much you can do with yourself but to linger somewhere that makes you feel better.
Some people go have breakfast at Tiffany’s; I go sit on the fire escape of this small apartment building in New York to listen to the woman, who says ‘darling’ more times than I ever could, sing. CONTINUE READING...
Counting every petal in sight…
“What are you doing Madeliene Rose?”
“I am trying to get up from this armchair Eduardo — I am exhausted.”
“What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I have been away from the village; I went back home for the holidays and now I need a 100 year siesta. You see darling, I have counted every time my mother’s large earrings have hit her cheeks and I have counted every furtive glance on the face of the one I fell in love with.” CONTINUE READING...