29 April, 2004


I've just seen a face/I can't forget the time or place/where we just met

Back in the Vagabond Theater after a year, and missing Sam.

People walk into your life, you know? Make homes for themselves in your heart, and then, with a casual wave and a see-you-later smile, walk out, disappear for a month, or three, or six.

In the lobby I saw her, shining black hair hanging to her hips, which weren't much. She breathed, she moved, her elfin body seemed to exist in this reality as a favor, on a whim. Please, God, I wished, let her act, even just a little. I want her for my Mermaid.

She was perfect.

And better than perfect, she was nice. Funny, friendly, hardworking, low maintenance, and heartbreakingly, soul crushingly beautiful.

For three months, the nine of us were nearly inseperable. I ate, drank and breathed these people. And then we began to trickle away from one another. With no common project to unite us, we were connected only by the mutual bonds of Love. And those can be tenuous, stretched, strained, frayed by the grinding jagged teeth of Life.

Come back, Sam. Shine your smile on me, share drinks and laps and stories. You're never missing from my heart, but I miss the gentle reassurance of your quicksilver face.

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