Vidal's Verse

I am still haunted by memories and feelings that should have long ago passed. The problematic curse of an almost perfect memory. Do I remember the days perfectly or do I remember her as being perfect?

These are just stories told poetically. This is a place for my words to live. Some lead good lives and others not so much. I would call these Poetic Stories. 

The Marine Biologist Who Dreamt of Flight

When a conversation seems to be dwindling and I don’t want it to end I will take the reins on it and ask a question to get the other person thinking. So I asked her “If you could be anything, all you had to do was say it and it would be, what would you choose?” I honestly expected to hear something totally generic, veterinarian to be exact. So when she came back with “Well I guess I would be a bird.” I laughed out loud, but on her end nothing. Because she knew she had followed the rules I had set up. And like the devils own tricks being turned on him she chose something I wouldn’t have allowed; And got away with it. I specified the next time and she said a marine biologist. But I like to think in her heart of hearts she understood the question the first time, if she could be anything, that’s what it would be. It seems to match her personality, her happy go lucky attitude and optimism towards life, doing her own thing and not caring who is watching. The hummingbird whose bright colors separates them from the rest of the birds, moving quickly and without predictability from one flower to the next, in a field occupied with onlookers and potential dangers. And who we, or at least I, cant imagine being anything but happy. Like birds taking to the safety of the sky when you run at them and try to take them by surprise, she successfully dodged my question and left me to revel in the beauty of the flight I had just witnessed.

All rights reserved and all that bullshit.