sr.

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SOFT and blurred and strange like urban carbon decay. i remember

  • that year I skipped the haunted house to instead count lonely days
  • and periods of my life measured by eyeliner type (from chalky to waxy to dark and smudgy)
  • on bad nights I’d tally them up on a sticky note by the light switch that stood by a doodle of a pink cat with an arched back with a perplexed face that asked: why so sad?
  • that my project looked happier than i felt and photos belied my true sentiments and only what i wrote was honest
  • and the things i painted were honest, too, like the black poster-size painting of what loneliness felt like even though I was surrounded by scathing, laughing, faces, faceless faces I’d forget as soon as I turned away
  • it felt like it’d be forever before I ever returned, that the walls were white and it’d be the last night (but not for long)
  • I wished to move forward. I wished to leave. I asked: am I unhappy in the present because I live in the future, or do I live in the future because I am unhappy in the present?
  • both. the present was shitty in the most pleasant way possible, and looking forward was escapism.

in retrospect, i had something (many things) to look forward to, and it’s here and it’s now. god, i know it’s cliche, but if only i could pause life right now, keep things just as they are….life, stay still. you are good, better than good, fingers-crossed things won’t change.

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Sea of Nostalgia

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I miss:

  • driving around aimlessly during the summertime, mostly saying little to nothing to each other. We wandered highways with everywhere to go and nowhere to be, slunk into pet stores, cigar store, malls, art museums. This one time we chased the sunset but the silhouette trees got in the way. Later, by the lake, we talked about life. It was too hot to think that day and I just remember dangling my feet in the water and saying some vague bullshit.
  • baking and chilling with my close guy friends. (”You mean you guys would get high?” No. Like, actual baking and chilling.) How absurdly exciting it was to scroll through recipes and glide through Kroger with flour in one hand, sugar in the other. When the cupcakes were ready I always felt superbly triumphant and as they baked we usually came up with stupid hypotheticals. We peppered our mundane days with fun hypotheticals, infused days of dry intelligence with smacking stupidity.
  • screaming about politics and current events. Coiling up on our beds, bellowing on about platforms and figures and candidates. Remember how, at age thirteen, we sat our way-too-young-to-vote asses on the grassy field and perused through what we knew of the candidates? At age fifteen we sputtered our similar views over coffee, all the while putting on an affect of something greater than ourselves. It’s strange to think that that was five years ago–it feels like it was maybe two, three years ago. Here, I stay mum on my views. But every time I go home, the lid on these views comes toppling off. Sometimes I forget that at some point in time there was no lid.
  • nitpicking our own minds with questions that swarmed with abstractions we pretended we could get a grasp on. Spider-webbing our way through the intricacies of our heads outside in the cold. We tackled feelings the way Freud tackled childhood, and did so over Chipotle bowls and glass bottle Cokes. We ping-pong-discussed so much utter shit that eventually we’d carry on like two ships sailing past each other in the night sea. It was ridiculous but it was fun. It was fun to not make sense and it was fun to say stupid shit and, most importantly, it was fun to fall over and laugh and laugh and laugh. Because at some point that was the only thing that communicated in our language of nonsense: laughing.

We’re mostly adults now (I guess). Doing adult-ish things.

It was a really strange moment when, over break, we lounged on bean bags on the floor of the supermarket and blurily pinky-promised to invite each other to our weddings. There were the equally strange moments of suddenly realizing what others/you meant to you/others after years and years and years. (You toss it out casually, you take hold of it casually. But then you internalize it less-than-casually: you made an impact on my life. Huh.) And while uni is fun and has its own salad bowl of lovely people, ’tis markedly different.

(orig. posted on tumblr)