If I had magic fingers I would clicked them now eagerly, jumping through the portal of my feelings to find myself having dinner with you guys at home. Instead I am reduced to spying on a bunch of strangers in a coffee shop drinking tea to honor the name of the place… ‘The coffee shop’
. Who cares anyway, yesterday I have received a “bouquet of spoons.”
People have it all wrong, either about flowers or ghosts. There is so much more to ghosts than cold and icy wind. There is love, dreams, laughs, telepathy, cares, jokes, warm and kissing wind, like a hand on your arm while nobody is there with you. There is no portal through my heart that cannot take a leap through space to hug you strongly taking your breath away just that one second you forget to be strong. Did you feel it just now that warm wind, ghostly brushing your hair?
I miss everyone today. It started in the afternoon after a great cycle. As I race down, amused by the thunder chasing after me, feeling amazingly powerful on my two wheels, it jumped at me around the corner, that sudden impatience of sharing the joy with as many people as possible, especially my loved ones. But they were not there. That inch of a moment I had a choice to make… let the sadness creep in with the thunder, or keep the joy teasing it. I choose the “bouquet of spoons” I received the day before. An amazing simple “bouquet” of colorful long stem spoons.
It came as a very unexpected item. Forgotten for a short time then remembered again, then lost, then searched for, then not found, and found and lost again, and found again and lost and… “We brought you something,” said my friend, “let me find it. You said last time you really like them. I think it’s here or maybe not. I guess I may find it there. Hum, not really. It should be here or maybe rather there. I can’t remember where we put it but it’s… yes here! You see it’s nothing really but you said last time you loved them.” I had stopped listening mesmerized. I had my first “bouquet of spoons”, beautiful long stem ones. Their corolla tempting me to dig one of them into a big huge bowl of chocolate. I lost track of time this evening following the color of the spoons. I lost track of time in the simplicity of that simple sentence hanging in the air, like a perfume of spring mixed with summer when the earth is so warm: “you said last time you loved them.”
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