after the gold rush

My tan lines are already fading and it's not even August. I have yet to leave this city this summer (a weekend in the 905 doesn't quite cut it). Every corner seems smellier and dirtier than the last. I haven't sat on the deck as much as I want to because I've been sitting inside typing away away away on paper after paper after paper and trying to believe that this will all be worth something someday. That it'll mean something. That I'll be proud. Of what, I do not know.

But the other day there was a walk in the dark and the streets were still and there was no garbage to smell and see and there was a boy in plaid and then there was another boy in plaid and then there were strawberries and my first cherries of the season and there was this song playing on repeat and I closed my eyes and all my worries and reservations suddenly floated away away away.