November 10, 2008

She listens to harmonica music all day. I´d like to see her take it up and learn how to play. She´s wasting her life listening to the music of prison inmates. Losing her life to the sounds of lost souls. But what is the alternative?

“Our lives are complicated by the thoughts in other people´s heads.” This is what she says. She says this to me while I am eating. I love to listen to her, but I saw those words as an implication that it was me that signified the “other people.”

Maybe it was innocent, maybe it wasn´t. I took it to heart all the same. My thoughts complicate her life. Fine. Her awful taste in music complicates mine. Just as the thoughts and unholy harmonica music of the rest of the world complicates our lives together.