I refused, pondered, made calls and decided to go to the Loquations almost after six months (or more). I missed the lady and the reading - above all I missed the memories - NCPA memories, sunken garden memories, Monaco memories, crowded memories, flirtatious memories, memories that carried a beacon assuring there was more to life, Baudelaire memories, Jim Morrison memories, my feet on wet cold grass memories, Fat cat on broad steps memories, Q memories, Tenzin memories, old woman with onyx, sapphire and penthouse without an heir memories, memories of sane men succumbing to depression, losing sight, losing wives - and finding refuge in arguing over other dead people.
My teeth are sunk too deep in this addiction... I leave, drift apart and return to feel these random ones - like the evening at Leopold's with half of me stepped over with two others and half of me left behind with three young faces.
The knowledge of now has often been the knowledge of what I had, and what I can have.
