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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Second Conversationdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: rws
    ASL Info:    57/m/ohio
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 2777/1297/258
    Words: 630
    Class/Type: Prose/Misc
    Total Views: 650
    Average Vote:    4.0000
    Bytes: 4118



    Description:
       ~belated sequel to a long ago first chapter (The Conversation)~


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Second Conversationdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Cute.

    Hmmm?

    The way you manipulate lines to describe people. Like drawing.

    Pastel language with a bit of graphite.

    Kids asleep?


    Yes, thank God. Matthew is beginning to learn his little sister isnít a boy so no backyard X-Games Olympiads.

    At least not while youíre looking.

    Hopefully not. They love each other to death sometimes.

    As long as itís not fatal, love.

    So far Iím a competent referee. Oh, Matt wants to know when youíll teach him to write like you. And he wants to learn to draw.

    Didnít he want to be a geologist last week?

    No, an archaeologist. Someone who digs up old buildings, he said. Geology was the week before when he learned people who map resources get to travel the world. He wanted to explore the jungle.

    He should explore his closet. Thereís a jungle of fascinating toys in there.

    Heíd rather have Dad explore with him.

    Iíll take them both to the park tomorrow. Weíll satisfy our curiosity on the swings and hiking trails and ponder the meaning of life over ice cream.

    Sounds like my kind of pondering. So tell me, what are you writing?

    Just a little note to a critic who canít seem to see beyond the words.

    Not everyone will agree with you, or understand even the most obvious things. Some people are just too literal; theyíre not children, you know.

    I know, baby, I know all too well. I think Iím a child in a world of technicians. The language is too different, and Iím finding it easier to communicate with a patient than deal with those who live for precision.

    It takes someone different to speak to someone whoís wounded. It takes somethingÖa gift. Like a child wanting to be everything. To them, love and wonder are meaningful. And they adore someone who can feel the same way.

    HmmmÖyou should have written this. Really.

    No, hon, you should. Because it means something to you.

    How do you explain living a philosophy to someone whoís taught a philosophy? Will they ever speak the same language or will one always be coerced into a clone of the other?

    How do you teach someone to get off their clinical ass and stop passing logic stones? How do you explain the finer points of going mad to a statistician so that they can purge themselves before they go insane? How do you teach them to wonder?


    You donít. You stay the person you are, stop worrying, play with your children and enjoy life. Remember the people who love you.

    Your son wants to be like you and Iím sure your daughter will too, given time. I canít think of a more profound influence than that. Youíve unconsciously loved people into better versions of themselves. And youíve made me happy. Isnít that lesson enough?

    So thatís why I love you. Beauty, brainsÖ

    And modesty. Donít forget that. Seriously, you want to teach people to be less lonely? You want them to be a little more connected to the world? Let them see that youíre happy. Honest people will respect that and listen. But the rest are only bitching to be heard.

    Odd I should have a wife so gifted at what Iím paid to do. That may be my gift, a second opinion; soft, tough and grounded. Would the world exist if we hadnít gotten back together?

    Iím sure it would. But only for everyone else.




    Submitted on 2010-05-14 19:45:50     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      as always its the last lines that catch my breath and make me hate you lol.

    this last lines is no different.

    and the world would exist but the world is relative.

    example:

    the world is very real and i am a present part of it but i am not necessarily always a present and real part of dunedin new zealand. frequently i find myself walking down the street and thinking if i turn this corner i will walk past the purple cafe which is actually located on bole road in addis ababa. for two months last year purple cafe was my point of compass. because daily at 2pm i would meet my boy there.
    2 pm every day.
    and so now when 2pm strikes either here or there i sigh and wish i was somewhere that i'm not while the rest of the world continues and staff ask me questions as to what to do with wastage or D10 solution or what-have-you

    so yes... the world would exist but it wouldnt work on the levels it exists for the two who are back together.

    and that was a whole lot of ramble about something you already know about.
    | Posted on 2010-05-16 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
      Well done, I went through numerous emotions.
    I thought you were speaking of a love one passed.
    I thought you were left to raise a child alone.
    I liked the way you were open, I felt you were
    expressing our need to be ourselves. I may be all wrong, but it was a good read and I love the happy ending. I feel I can relate to this.
    The Kidd
    | Posted on 2010-05-15 00:00:00 | by mistiekidd | [ Reply to This ]
      I really enjoyed this, a warm family, intelligent, and comfortable with itself, lessons having been learned. Nicely portrayed.
    | Posted on 2010-05-15 00:00:00 | by edcherry | [ Reply to This ]


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