2.17.22

I am trying to get to the place where the words come from. I am reaching my arms into my mouth to reach for my heart to reach for my stomach to reach for the place where I am standing in front of the door with the wind blowing behind it. My hand is on the door handle and all of what is to come is blowing hard on the other side. I can feel the draft on my face. I think just beyond this threshold I can hear the voice of someone I love. I am standing here wondering if I should open the door.

I am opening the door. 

Last night when I talked to _____, they told me about where they were living now in Quanzhou and how all the houses were made of red brick unlike the ones in Beijing which were made of grey brick to distinguish them from the structures in the Forbidden City. Then they told me about porcelain. Unlike plastic and other materials we use today, _____ said, porcelain and stone only look better with the passing of time. When porcelain is put into the kiln, they told me, somebody has to mind the fire for 48 hours. Whoever is doing so cannot sleep until the time is up. Later in the conversation, they mentioned there was a broken vase on the floor of their apartment that they'd forgotten to clean up. The vase reminded them of a friend who had recently fallen through the ice into a frozen river with their dog. Although the friend was saved, the dog was not.

I'm not sure why I am writing about this now, besides the fact that I said I would.