I had no intentions for Spain, and no expectations, and the only thing I wanted to do there was to forget you. This isn’t hard, it shouldn’t be hard, because there are lots of ways of getting something out of your mind. People should be as easy to forget as furniture, especially when they don’t last as long as they should. But you know me better than that, and you know that if I leave a place, with a heart full of fresh cracks, that I will only make it so far before I get tired of my own melancholy, and start looking for other ways of thinking about the things that get lost of left behind. I didn’t even know Spain when I left, and figured I would get lost.
Unfortunately, I got distracted from my grief, and instead found some of the nicest moments in this short life. When I decided to head for the coast in the south, I found this site here, and had a place to stay. It was lovely. Not quite the dream I had, where I would be sleeping on the beach as a vagabond, tracing memories of you in the sand before the sea decided to take me, out of sympathy for my mangled and battered heart. This was more like heaven with a tv. But there was a moment when I was shocked out of my fake misery when I heard Wilco playing from someone’s car.
This was our favorite music, and I don’t remember our favorite song, but if I do remember, I will send you a copy. And I can’t think of anything that would be more fitting for the end of the love affair of the century, than for you to come here and see them play in May. However. The one in the car told me about the concert, and suggested we go together, and the end of this story is where I am only writing to tell you that I’ve decided to stay, and to please send me all my cds back. New address forthcoming.
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