Non Puoi Comprendere

I spoke with Verdi this evening.
You see, I've been starting the middles of my nights with Act III of Traviata, so it was important that we speak, Verdi and I. I know it to be true, you see, that it isn't the cacophony of NYC, or the bicyclist's bickering, or the panic attacks. I know it to be true that it's the cello that keeps pulsing at my insomnia. It's the cello in Act III.
So I spoke with Verdi this evening.

It's a conversation about time, really.
It's a conversation about ticking.
It's a conversation about Alfredo coming too late.
Perhaps.
But the aspiration was never happily ever after.

So I went to the place where I always go when I'm alone, the place that smells of marijuana and Russian poetry, and I sat with my purse between my legs and I prayed to God.

And I didn't pray in language. I prayed with stillness.

I prayed to God and Verdi answered.

And he said - Lech L'cha.