The Open Matt Project

Maybe Love Does Die

There is a man on the porch of an old wood house far in the desert. All around, crickets tick while lizards skitter through the rocks. Sitting, hearing the creak of his chair and the whisper of the wind he looks out between the sky and the land and past the horizon sees another man.

This man lives in an apartment in the city, with comforts and conveniences and a view of the park, surrounded by an endless echo of humanity. He stands on the terrace and looks out at the city smelling the concrete and dust while rattling ice in a tumbler of scotch and he sees a man on a porch in the desert.

There is a sound that is harmony between the whispering wind and the rattling ice, a sound like a sigh that sings of lost things and fine memories. As close to their breath as the air they both breathe this single sound between them, love and death drawing forever.