Warblings of the City

In the woolen context of a pre-Valentines-Day weekend, I found myself drawn back to my stomping grounds around the dark wet Friday streets of Knoxville. She's changing, like a season I haven't known before. She puts on a face that smiles like a woman hiding that she's running scared. I feel I'm being torn away from this city.

Kat and I wrestled through tears of our unfaithfulness. We needed to take time to re-find what it is we're really searching for. I saw a shirt melt through the mix of East Town Mall the other day. Carpe Noctem, it said. Coupled with its brother, Seize the Day, we see that it is our time to spend, and not wantonly. I feel the warm smell of prayer coming through chinks in the walls. If we must say goodbye to this old girl, we'll shake hands, have a drink, give a hug, and ask her to keep our friends well. We talked of spice and cities, as we ate a nice dinner and saw a movie in rebellion of Valentine's Day. Over my raspberry sweet tea and her well-done prime rib, we remembered pipe dreams of New Orleans. We spoke of her accent, and her perfume. She drew our minds in like only a deep southern lady can, with a mystery behind her eyes. And we remembered faithful Knoxville, where she breathes of coffee and bricks and barbeque. She talks a little softer, hides her charm behind a librarian's bun and thick glasses. We don't know where the road is walking, but we miss her already.

I still feel like we're being made to let go though. The old girl's charm is more a memory that we never made. She's brusk now, and sharp around the edges - it's difficult to see why without thinking that I'm full of imaginary sicknesses. Perhaps it is me, perchance that Pavlov's bell calls me to dreams not yet unfurled. Whatever the case, this beautiful woman and I are riding on a sail of hope. We can't see, and the fog has never felt so good and so horrifying.