can i dance with you

Tomorrow is (potentially) my very last day of class ever. In mere hours when people ask who I am and what I'm all about about, I won't be able to give that vague but still self-important answer: "Oh, you know, I'm a student" like it means everything. Because the truth is, I have no answers, only questions. What I do know is how good this song makes me feel and how when I listen to it I believe there can only be greatness waiting for me when I turn that corner into the unknown tomorrow afternoon.

another girl another planet

The other day I watched the sky turn from blue to black and open wide in anger. The road became a river and I watched as someone's trash transformed into a boat and floated away. There was a rumble deep within, and flashes that lit everything grey for a moment or two, and I got wet just from standing near the door. I watched a man fall down and I watched umbrellas turn inside-out and back again. But then I watched as the river slowed and as the black suddenly glowed yellow and that street, this city, was new, and waking, and goddamn yellow, and bursting.

This song makes me feel like the past months of rumbles and falling down and cracking skies are receding like a river turning back into a road because this song is so happy and so hopeful that all I want to do is dance and be forever new and waking and goddamn bursting come September.

across the sea again

My wombmate is much too far away and these memories just make me miss her much too much. She will always be just what I needed.

a weekend in photos

She arrived in the city bearing gifts and stories and it soon felt like no time had passed as we (finally) reunited with a summer park-sit and white wine and nighttime strolls and too much food and faux-air conditioning from cab rides where our hair flew around our faces and we suddenly felt glamorous like from another era. How nice it all was.

also! lately.

if you leave

I feel as though I've lost a large part of my youth this summer. It all began in June with the news of Michael's death, and although I was always too young to ever be a real fan, I found myself suddenly glued to the television and youtube, already nostalgic for our fallen star. I knew that part of my youth, our generation, had disappeared with the final wave of that one sparkling glove.

And then news of Mister Hughes' death arrived two weeks ago. Although I haven't felt the need to watch The Breakfast Club since high school, I still instantly felt the urge to listen to Simple Minds on repeat and wonder what'll happen now that he's gone. I remember seeing Sixteen Candles for the first time when I was thirteen and pressing pauserewind on that final scene so many times that the VHS tape is now forever marked by my younger self. Awkward in bangs that were too thick and glasses that were too big, Samantha gave me hope that in three years, things would be different. Things would be better. That I would find my own Jake Ryan. And although my Jake ended up taking the form of a Justin, to this day, I still can't look away from a boy dressed in dark hair and red plaid because he might just be the Jake to my Samantha and then of course I would finally get my happily ever after in the end, right?

oh, you've got a twisted tongue

The other night, I was brave. I approached and asked questions and made small talk and maybe even cracked a joke (or two, or three!). I stood outside in the rain at a corner that is still so familiar, and I was aware of him standing nearby. I said goodbye and left, only to stall at a green light and get wetter by the second. I shifted back and forth and back and forth before running back to that familiar corner.

"Do you guys want to grab a drink with us?"

"We have to load up first, but if we still feel up to it afterwards then forsure. Where are you going?"

"Just across the street over there." I point.

"Over there?"

"Yup."

"Okay, cool. Maybe we'll see you later then."

"Bye!" I wave a parting over my shoulder.

I never saw him after that, but that is okay because for that moment, in the rain, at 1:30 on an August night, I suddenly had only my racing heart and not a care in the world. On stage he had mouthed along with his eyes closed, and in that instant I knew I needed to know him. And know him I did. It may have been for a mere moments as opposed to the hours I so imagined, but I was brave and I knew him and that is all that I needed the other night.

feet on the ground, head in the sky

The full moon shone bright last night, but the streetlights still managed to shine brighter. Nothing felt spooky, not even that ghost from the past that just won't go away. I sang loud "feet on the ground, head in the sky!" in preparation for tonight's birthday sing-a-long. I felt like running home but thought twice. I fell asleep with a spinning head and woke up mid-sleep with tears streaming down my face, my eyelashes heavy with mascara. I woke up again, this time late for work but with time already moving too slow.

patience is a virtue

Impatient should be my middle name. I hate waiting for the simplest of things: a sunny day, the latest True Blood, a phone call that I still don't believe will actually come, an e-mail back, photos from faraway. Isn't anticipation the best part of everything and anything because whatever it ends up being will never be quite as good as it seemed in your head? I know this but I still can't help tapping my foot and checking the time and clicking refresh refresh refresh again and again and again.

eeeek

You say "It's August."

I say "How?"

purge

Sometimes I think I'm my own worst enemy and I wonder why I constantly refuse to let the past go the way I do. I wonder why I choose to relive the good and the bad through an inbox of filtered messages at four in the morning when I have a paper to write that is already a day overdue. Lately I've been reminding myself that I'm in a really good place (aside from the overdue paper), and that I don't need the past the way I thought I once did because it isn't the past that actually existed, and even if it was, it was a messy and emotional past a lot of the time and I feel much saner these days anyways.

But even though I know all this, I can't help reading those words sent months and years ago, and wondering what went wrong.

I think Martha is right. It's time to hit that delete button once and for all.

to clean

Nights are funny funny funny things. Disappointing, mostly. Surpsing, sometimes. Good, tonight. More digits were exchanged, and that'll probably just be that and that is okay. Words were exchanged earlier, and those are the words that matter. And those are the words that will go nowhere and a split screen reminds me of this fact when I feel my most hopeful. Days become months and months blend into seasons and suddenly it's been that long since I touched his face. And no faces will be touched if those words become true, but stories will be shared and friendships cemented and that is all I need tonight.