Every Night (When the Sun Goes In)

I stumbled across this song tonight and fell in love. It’s so beautiful and sad and slow. It makes me want to melt somehow.

And I don’t even know what I mean by that.

So yes, I know I said I’d write in here every day and I kind of did not do that at all. So um… ya, oops. Sorry about that. But really, I should have been more clear. When I said, “every day” I didn’t mean every day so much as “quite often.”

Magical Book Moment Number 1,397

The other day while taking the train home a guy was sitting next to me reading Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore. He was really close to the end and he ended up finishing it after about six stops, after which he looked around in that wonderful dazed way people always look when they are coming out of a good book. But then he suddenly looked lost. Like he didn’t know where he was at all. I dunno, there was something really confused about him and he started tapping his closed book against his palm. Then he looked out the window. He looked around the train car. He looked at me. (I was reading my own book). He looked down at my book. He looked at all the other people on the train. And I did too because I was kind of following his looks by this point, trying to find out what he was looking for. And almost everyone on the train was reading , looking down at their own page or device. So then at the next stop the guy gets up, takes one final look around, then leaves his book on his seat and gets off. I think he was looking for someone to leave his book with, but everyone else was reading so he just left it on the train. I had my own book so I didn’t pick it up. And I’m not a huge Christopher Moore fan so I felt like I should leave it for someone else. But it was nice. It reminded me of how finding books can be somewhat serendipitous, and that there’s this whole life to a book and how it’s traveled that you don’t even know about when you read it. How even the book doesn’t tell the whole story.

Things I Like (More For the List)

When you’re in the backseat of a car and you catch the eye of someone else sitting in the backseat of a car and you just kind of both look at each other for a while. You’re in the same position, moving in the same direction, but somehow in two totally different worlds going to two totally different places.

How whenever I go to the beach there is always a group of kids, no matter how warm or how cold it is, playing in the waves with all of their clothes on (jeans, t-shirts, all of it) while screaming and laughing and not caring about anything at all.

Melted Witches All Over San Francisco?

I’ve been noticing this for a while but lately even more than usual… There are always piles of clothes on the streets of this city. Why are these clothes there? Where do they come from? And often they will be whole outfits. A sweater, a shirt, pants, and shoes. It’s so odd and they always remind me of the part in The Wizard of Oz, where the witch melts and after she’s gone all that’s left is a pile of her cloths, her broom, and some green smoke. What if people are going around melting witches all over San Francisco and stealing their brooms? That’s a lot of melted witches. And yes, I know that’s not the answer, but it makes me wonder even more where these piles come from. I suspect that they are offerings just like the book the guy left behind on the train–that people don’t want these clothes anymore so they leave them behind for someone else to pick up.

People are always leaving things for other people. I like that too.


2 thoughts on “Every Night (When the Sun Goes In)

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