For all of you finishing up finals/hell/death week, here’s a list of things that are inherently worse than 6 page term papers and cumulative final exams (not fair, evil-Professors) in hopes that yo…
hello I wrote a thing you should read it. ha hhaha?
My mind isn’t on finals. It’s on the summertime, late nights and warm breezes. It’s on the ocean and cold tile floors and hot sidewalks. It’s on running barefoot from the heat. It’s on lazy mornings spent in bed and driving to you, you driving to me, driving together. It’s on sun showers and afternoon thunderstorms. It’s on your smile and the way it will feel to see you after not seeing you for a while, always too long. It’s on slow songs and the radio and the comforts of home. It’s on my bed, my room, my books; the way the sun comes through the blinds and the wind whips through open windows. It’s on slow-turning fans and hazy afternoons. It’s on white sand and makeshift swings and jumping off into cool, clear water. It’s on you, and me, and where we call home, separately and together. It’s on new perspectives of old situations. It’s on printmaking and pottery wheels, the summer classes that count for nothing but learning, experiencing, watching something grow from inside your palms and inside your head. It’s on pizza and beer and never-ending nights with different, familiar faces. It’s on merging worlds. It’s on music carrying me away into the night, on driving with the windows down, on being driven. It’s laughing like I haven’t in a while. It’s on total calm. It’s on possibility. It’s on welcomed change. It’s two semesters ahead. It’s on Roman streets and running wild through Europe. It’s on trains through countrysides and sleeping on couches of old friends and new. It’s on scrounging change for a beer. It’s on saving, saving, saving. It’s on wasted money and well-spent time. It’s on growing old with face-lines to tell my stories. It’s on sunny spring mornings that turn into sunny spring afternoons with the windows open for the first time in a while. It’s on the way things fall into place without you realizing until it has already spun you around; dizzy from the fall. It’s on being picked back up. It’s on happiness and reminiscing and loving every new moment of it. It’s on living for what’s real, not final papers: those can be put off, bull-shitted, extended into following weeks. It’s this life, this beautiful beautiful, mad, twisted life.
“In this county, people die at 21. They die emotionally at 21, maybe younger.” - John Cassavetes
Free-write I did when I was waiting for Benadryl to kick in. Because I have so many feels~
“….Who is the person looking back through dirty, mirrored glass? Do you ever think about mirrors that way? As glorified windows inside yourself? Have you ever looked deep into your own eyes? Because I have, and they’re reflecting pools with a depth I’ll never know. Would you jump off a cliff into cold, clear water? Would you plug your nose? Would you do it first, without coaxing from your friends? Do you know what it feels like to free-fall? To let go, completely? With nothing beneath your feet but the promise of coolness on a hot day? Because even water doesn’t feel like it does as it moves across your tongue and falls down your throat, not when you’re the one doing the falling – twenty feet and counting. And then your body hits and you almost never want to come up again. Do you know what it’s like, deep in those pools?….”
