July 3, 2008.

Last night I was surprised by the phrase "You look lovely in this light" when I was sitting in that rough little pub, the phosphorescent street light pouring in the windows and splashing all over everything, the fat candle and its tiny flame flickering in the crystal bowl and tossing a flurry of yellow shapes over the wooden table. I half-mumbled "Doesn't everybody" because it's true, everybody does, that lighting makes us all so deceptively soft and inviting and shadows fall so delicately, honey tones of hair and skin compete for low-contrast dominance, skin beatified and flaws all rinsed away. My mind wandered off to the first time I saw you, in that dark place with pale light that always seems to leak in from a direction you can't quite identify, and how your mouth was moving and sounds were coming out but I was so lost in the collision of your features and tilt of your head and wondered if your eyes/nose/eyebrows/skin had planned to dance in that configuration or if it was just some grand genetic accident. Either way I was grateful to be their captive audience.