I was communicating with my friend, Jed, via text message when he told me he was headed for a coffee shop to write in his journal. I tried imagining this new friend write in an actual journal. I’ve only read his works online. So we came up with this relay of descriptive texts.
Me: A young man, a pen on his left hand, an open journal on the wooden table in front of him. His eyebrows were knit, his deep brown eyes remembering. He had a sharp look on his face. ‘Dear God…’ he began but stopped mid-sentence. There were no words. His thoughts were hazy swirls, much like the aroma of milk in his coffee.
Jed: And the thought crossed his mind. A woman in her early twenties. Sometime in his past, she had been his sunshine. His reason to write. She was like this sweet aroma. Felt at first… then gone.
Me: He looked outside the glass window. The sky was a bright blue. There were no clouds today, he noticed. But the wind must be blowing somehow. The trees were swaying to a silent rhythm. Beautiful. The world was beautiful. She was beautiful. How could such a beautiful day induce so much melancholy?
Jed: How could a beautiful woman like her cause him so much pain?
*** And at that point, we laughed at the whole thing.
First Published on March 6, 2012