Craving.

I sometimes crave things like chocolate and pickles. As often as not the cravings come separately and at least a week apart from each other. Sometimes I crave for singing birds, golden rings and the salty sea breeze feeling of being under a palm roof.

I've craved a hug received for a while now. The type where you can pull your arms in, tuck your head between your shoulders and fall into it. For some reason I have images of a mechanical hand closing in for the hug, me standing in the middle of it all calmly taking in the whirring noises as I get my hug. It's safer to think that the analog controls within the machine couldn't possibly turn on me like a swarm of hornets or an angry person.

A wiser man than me told me he was always looking for something new. He's been looking for what I think is 40 years but what very well may be 50 or 29 - this business we've gone into has a glory or guts attitude towards aging.

A new voice. A new beat. A new garage band feel that reminisces with the 80s, embraces the modern chemical nature of cooking but also remembers what a mixed tape feels like.

Not the plastic casing or the crackling in the first few second where you cleared your throat for a dedication  and the proceeded to stumble across something wrought in care.

2 sides, maybe 12 songs, vinyl scratching in the background.

See, what worries me is that I spent too long on that mix tape and then forget why I started it. Or wonder why the mix tape has to be one and I can't hold a conversation instead that transmits the thoughts running all over my head. Borrow all that bottled glory.

Maybe I should just talk. Maybe I should write down my thoughts and attempt an explanation that doesn't sound like an excuse. But all I want to do is start afresh with the memories that brought brilliance to the past. One full of late nights, tortellini and graceful dancing to middle school dancing.
I miss the "at home" feeling of wooden spoons, simmering pots and morning, freshly brewed coffee.