Yourself?

To my future.

Heyy, how've you been? Been a long time since I wrote something to you.

We were just talking about you the other day, Person-i've-yet-to-meet-in-my forever, over slices of fresh italian mushroom pizza and forkfuls of icecream and pancake, at this little Italian restaurant near my school. It had this al fresco dining thing outside, and inside it was the most beautiful and relaxing little place, with white-washed walls, decorated with red brick arches, and loads of fresh flowers.

I felt like I was in another country, Italy maybe, or France (though i've never been there), the air-con was cooling, and the clinks of plates, and the murmur of chatter filled the air. We were talking and dreaming, and the conversation turned to the future, and you.

Well it's not really you you. After all, who might you be nobody knows. But in your future, can you imagine, a little place of our own, with a quaint little garden filled with fresh flowers, on a little patio perhaps, a little restaurant on one side of our house, serving the most beautiful pizzas, from a wood-fired red brick oven. The smell of fresh bread mixing with the fragrance of rose, and lavender serving as our signboard, wheting the appetites of our neighbours walking past. Making me feel hungrier the closer i get to home, the closer i get to home.

Home home home.

And our home is home. Communal living, home for the hungry, home for the lonely, home for those looking for a bit of health, a bit of company. Little kids, running about the garden, looking for a place where they could play with their friends. Youths, singing, strumming their guitars, dancing. Working adults, looking for a little place to take a break, eat a bit before delving back into their phone calls and computers. All of them, hungry, and you walk amongst the tables and feed them all.

You've got a team of course, supporting the mini kitchen, and a garden where you grow and get your own ingredients. You'd be walking around, talking to our neighbours, our friends, having a great time being updated on the going-ons of the neighbourhood. You'd be the life of the restaurant, the light to warm their tummies and hearts. And the restaurant lights up our home.

Still, in my dream, I never appear. I wonder what I would be doing.

Do you know what I might do? Might I be away, far from you, healing, cutting, performing surgeries? Might I be sick myself, and you sustaining the family? Might I be with the children? Driving them to school? Where do I fit in in my dream of you.

Maybe, just maybe, I might fill your soul just like you fill their tummies. I might be the light in your soulhome.

posted by Downhere. @ 11:53 am