On the coldest day of the year I went to Piha. I took my shoes and socks off to better feel the lack of heat in the sand. I walked to the river and sank in the sand up to my calves. The black sand sucked all the colour from my feet untill they were as pale as albino mice. I walked up the lion shaped rock thinking about frostbite and wincing at the hard ground, still as I could feel it, it meant there was hope for those toes. I got sick from that expedition, all hot and cold and achey. It seems that this is like a physical manisfestation of the current mood of everyone.
Later, as my feet burned up with returned warmth, matching the fever in my head, I thought about love.
When I was little, my mother once said to me "what is this thing called love?". It can be taken in two totally different ways, depending on the intonation, which was her point in saying it to me, yet it has always stuck with me, reoccuring on occasion in my thoughts. Do we just reach an age when we settle for something, when we think that maybe this time we'll win? Maybe sometime?
When you've put so much effort into someone and so it's easier to stick by them, for better or worse. When the romance of the new looses its flavour? Or will there always be the tantilisation of something better? I like the nervousness, that twist in your stomach when you see your lover, I like the thrill of reminders, memories, the knowledge that someone is thinking of you, and maybe they will bring you biscuits and hug you when you're tired. I'm an idealist, I'm hunting for permanance, I'm trying to juggle and I'm loosing the game. But I believe in chills, I'm old fashioned, romantic and yet modern in my quest. How many more notches do I need in my belt? Or is it just all about funandgoodtimes?
4 comments:
Reminds me of that Pulp song
What.... Is.... This.... Feeling called love?
F.E.E.L.I.N.G C.A.L.L.E.D L.O.V.E
I like anything that is a reminder of Jarvis..
Hello Poochie.
Your lyrical prose reminds me of something my good friend Pussy Wah-Wah once said, "Lets f**king gap it to Piha this weekend!"
Never was a truer and most delightful sentance spoken with such passion and commitment.
Ironically, the closest beach to us in Melbourne is called Sandringham (as you well know from your jaunty...er...jaunts in this urban ghetto late last year).
But anyway, back to my point. The last icon that I saw whilst jet-setting out of Auckland was good old Lion Rock.I must admit I did blubber up against the window, snot running down the glass with a backdrop of fluffy white clouds,as the great weekend monument finally receeded into the romance of ocean fog.
I miss you
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