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Sweet Serendipity June 6, 2006

Posted by Matt Hurst in Personal Life, Prose.

Even on a bad day New York City broods with romance; kissing under an umbrella in the rain. I can still remember the day we met, if only because I was a nervous wreck. I was taking a break in the lobby reading over my blue book of prose and poems. Lara approached me before she was set to arrive, and I jumped up and gave her a hug embrace. She was still wet from the rain that poured all morning and afternoon, so I took her up to my room to dry off. I pushed myself through the awkwardness of the night morning preceeding this moment, and because I knew a kiss would do it I looked her in the eyes and embraced her lips in the elevator up to my room. In the room the kiss would continue, trading comments about the room itself in between. We made plans to run back to her place for some packing of her own; she had only arrived the same day, but we already knew we would be staying together in the hotel room’s privacy. 17 floors above the world, but a whole world away from the perspective before.

There is a large in between to speak of later. She filled my stomach with neighborhood falafel, made our way to the cozy 2 bedroom in Williamsburg, traded terrible dirty jokes all the way, and she introduced me to her world. I clenched my nervousness as my heart raced all day, driving it into conversational laughs. Her laugh, smile, sweet eyes, the smell of her hair, all carried through the humid swelter on rainful over the city. Her kiss itself could warrant an essay, perhaps even a thesis of its own. I will save the more graphic detail for ourselves.

Our day in the sun has risen between the avenues and high rise building of the city; and we have met each others eyes in their glow (though I am sure it could be her own). She doesn’t know as I write, sound in slumber with her curly hair freed to the joy of all who meet her without a straightening iron. Her body is covered in a tapestry of mixed and matched blue, yellow, and gold; I could care less what covers it, but it does show a taste of her own. Her music is terribly classic, removed of the immediate nature my sounds of the moment passing through one month to another. Her voice is much softer and rounded than a phone call could ever reveal. Her laugh is still a bird’s song, sweet as a spring morning air. Her hair twirls and swoon as the flight of a birch in the morning, and her skin is soft and feels like home to hands wrapping in it.

lara love

I am in love with Lara; for once she loves me back. I love her for all the reasons above, and for more yet to be listed. I love her humbleness, her fragile self-conciousness, her brilliant mind, her observedness, her quick wit, her endless compassion for others, and her conversational openess, among other things. She is kind and sweet, but with a blunt honesty that refreshes all in her presence.

It is a tremendous feeling that is still difficult to put into words, but rather some kind of understanding or knowing; I love her as she is. Even her flaws have a cham all their own. She balances off my doubts as I in turn balance her own. In short, we work together as a unit, stronger for the other but acting as equals. I have waited my whole life to meet someone like her, and would gladly journey accross the world again just to know her. I never thought I could fully understand the word, but I will use it knowingly and proudly – I love Lara.


CyberSurrealism June 5, 2006

Posted by Matt Hurst in Personal Life, Prose.
1 comment so far

It has surely been a nerve wrecking and surreal week so far in NYC.  The city is still a bit much, and I had the misforutne of staying in a hotel without room service.  I would surely be held captive high above times square, if not for the darling Lara pulling me about.  Though she would claim that she would keep me in as well if she had her way, she has taken me a world away to visit the new york a tourist would never consider see, and I too the kinds of places (central Park) that some new yorkers would otherwise be reluctant to visit.
She is even more beautiful, her voice far kinder than any telecommunications might be able to convey.  Everything about the trip has seemed as if a dream, although the pinch of each other’s cheeks would seem to relegate it a reality awoken to.  The consumaters are a fotunate and geeky bunch, not afraid of strong drink for the most part.  I knew when the photo booth at the hole in the wall bar turned into a kissing booth that the group had broken free of their reluctance by the internet.  The cross-over into reality is nearly seemless for me, as well as those i have met, because our avatars have come to become a self-actualiztion under the surface.
But the surface is temporary, and at eye levekl walking the sidewalks I see stories of delight and terror.  The only consulation yet is waking next to a pair of eyes with such kindness as to tear at one’s heart.  It brings to mind a thousand songs as the sun peaks into the hotel room and softly glows a blue hue over Lara’s rosey cheeks.
From the top of my hotel room lokking down I can see the mess of taxi cabs travelling in packs at night, tourists stopping to take photos of everything in between darting under the rain, and the swagger and stride of the officers siren.  The noise pollution between to merge into a hum of activity, but our voices manage to carry a signal understood to the two of us alone.  Even her flaws are beautiful scars that speak of charecter and I yearn to heal them as I wrap her in my arms.
I cannot remember being this happy and terrified at the same time.  In short, the city that should be killing me is actually giving a life affirming euphoria.  I should be sick but whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, right?  Not really.
The post card is postage included.  There will be more to tell upon the package’s delivery.  I have opened the box, and pandora has spread something wonderful.  Can I include shipping confirmation?  Consumating complete.

Self-indulgent but honest and meaningfully,