Burn After Reading Originally published one day before I had my first subscriber. PAUL WITTENBERGER JAN 21

I fell in love early. And often. Call me foolish. In those day the orchard blazed, and you blazed with it, ripening under a watchful sun, child of the harvest, hard, round and sweet—firm, but still capable of being bruised. So white and so American, a stranger to worry or want or war. And I, so young when first we met, a blanket of green covering your rough lands, a white cloud that makes the sky seem pure by its absence. We were quiet in the marshy parts, through the waterworks, beyond fingers of land stretching out to sea and to rocks that met the sky where seabirds circle. We cried out our hallows against cathedral walls as penance and the nine billion names of God heard us. You never knew what it meant, this feeling of attachment that went deeper than friendship. There was a yearning in it, a soft cry swallowed in a distant night, a sudden turning from comfort to sweat. It was foolishness that led me to keep notes hidden away, notes containing plots, scenarios, interrogatories, and admissions whose meaning could not be explained when Father found them. Still, I was young and even with desires, unwanted, misunderstood, there was time enough for change, time enough and fear enough to learn. Burn after writing. Leave a comment Share Thanks for reading Paul’s Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Pledge your support Paul’s Substack is free today. But if you enjoyed this post, you can tell Paul’s Substack that their writing is valuable by pledging a future subscription. You won't be charged unless they enable payments. Pledge your support © 2024 Paul Wittenberger 205 S. Park Avenue, Fond du lac, WI 54935 Unsubscribe Get the appStart writing