Pi Day

"A sunrise has no stage fright."

The sun is setting in St. Petersburg. Jess and I are sitting on a seawall in Vinoy Park. The moon is a few days from fullness and it brightens as it climbs the sky. The horizon darkens to a purple and pale pink, reflecting off a large sailboat as it crosses the skyline from South to North. The park is filled with families, dogs, lovers contemplating the city's skyline from a bench hidden by trees. This city is alive and in it I have found new life; I have a new understanding of love, of compromise, comfort and coalescence . 

It's chillier now and she sits, boots on the edge of the concrete wall, intently devoured by her hand's desire to write the beautiful thoughts in her head down. She is writing in a book from Samantha, sent to me while she was studying in India. I was drowning in anxious tears and fits of hysteria in my Saab on campus. Jessica was saving me, wine nights and bedrooms smoke filled and shared. This life is so beautiful, exciting. It's so new, spring budding on flowering trees, pollen on the windows, the first bug bite of the season. I am alive again. Oh, alive. 

A plane crosses overhead southbound to the airport across from campus. Everyone coming and going from all directions and I am static and still. For now I will stay, for now this is my home. Welcome home! Something solidly semipermanent, warm and engulfing at the end of a satiated day. Something all my own, all our own. Sometimes early in the mornings, warm and tangled, I forget that we are not all one amalgamated entity, softening and thawing; lightly tickling the brink of oneness and love. It's beginning to feel familiar, familial. 

The sky deepens to a foreign violet, reflecting upon the bay as a mirror image. A spherical white light shines above and though the shape of a rabbit in the moon is the lunar personality of the southern hemisphere, I see it still over the face of a man. It followed me home in 2011. I don't believe these things leave us, they are imprinted, imbedded forever into our conscience reality. Ripples in the water, diffusing, affecting, marking forever.

We will go home now, walking swiftly through the crisp spring dusk, temperate winds tangling in our hair, tousling our clothing. In the warmth of the car words weightlessly withdraw from folding tongues, long winded and overwrought thoughts occupying the space around us. We'll make friends with the guys at the tattoo shop below our apartment, a possible catalytic decision, and Jess will play harmonica for us all. I am charmed with life and all it's possibilities, with love and it's incandescence.