This place

I don’t want to own anything until I know I’ve found the place where me and things belong together.
(Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s)

This place that I’d be looking for – now that I’ve come into some money, enough, perhaps, for an older 4-room apartment in this damn expensive city – somehow does not seem to come without you. Whenever I picture it, you’d have to be in it. You would have come along to look at it, to choose it, to pick the things in it with me. You and that dependent of yours, that little jewel I’ve come to love for reasons I cannot quite fathom. So it’s all up in the air, because before I can find the place where things and I belong together, I’ll have to find out if you and I (and your little jewel) belong together somewhere in the realm of reality, time and love. That is my vague plan. I have no idea if and how it might come together. I’ve given up planning because, with you, it has led to nothing in the past. You have been subversive all along. Whatever path seemed to go in a logical direction you managed to block or divert. While all the while giving me distinct hints and glimpses of pertinence. … I’ve got to leave it all up to opportunity, this place where you and I and things might belong together.

Written in 11 minutes as proposed by Café Writing.

– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )