Things That Come And Go
The most obvious example:
Occasionally a person will rush into your life with the ferocity of a comet. When you look into their eyes you will be able to see a slick oil fire raging there (wild). Do not be alarmed. It is alright. It is all right.
Other times a person will step gently, toes first, into your space and grab your hand and pull you into their orbit and force you to dance with them. You will spin around and try not to cry while they whisk you into unbearable beauty.
Hello. I knew from the beginning that you were only going to stay here a short time. But I opened my home to you, and fed you, and I did my best to keep you happy in this temporary place. Thank you. I hope you will not resent me.
A mosquito will come buzzing naughtily into your room. It will land on your forearm and if you are sensitive enough you will feel its tiny needle plunging into your skin. A small donation, really, but still too much.
You will find yourself on the roof of your 40-year-old creaking house in New Jersey, the one where you got beaten whilst naked. Those memories will sink away after a few years. Maybe someday you will tell them again to a person who you've offered your life to. Maybe you will not. You will watch the fireflies, their soft lights flickering in and out of the hazy summer air.
On that same night your mother will start the laundry later than usual. You will smell the detergent, vibrant (with fuzzed edges), and the dryer will clank noisily.
Do you ever get that heightening tension and anxiety when your expectations begin to stack up and you take a step back and you think, damn it, what have I done?
You're on the telephone talking to your mother. You tell her about something that happened during one of the parties you went to and she listens, pretending to be objective. You can hear something in her voice swaying, like a dinner plate that has not yet fallen to the tile.
Diseases. Some of them, anyways.
The light in your room, cascading across various corners throughout the day.
Earthworms will come out of the soil during the spring rains. Then in the mornings when you walk to school you'll see their wrinkled bodies littering the sidewalk. Because you have a weak heart you will reach school in a blaze of tears and the others will laugh to see you that way.
I often fall into these overbright and very romantic moods; during these times I fervently desire to dance in the rain or with someone. I have not danced with anyone in my life ever. I have always danced alone, and even then the last time I stepped inside a studio with the intention to dance was over 6 years ago when I was still a lithe and horrifically flexible ten-year-old.
I came into 2015 with absolutely no expectations and that was lovely, if morbid. Technically I was not conscious when I slipped into 2015. Actually I was 2 days late but I digress. This year it would be very nice if someone could hold my hand while the clock moves from 31 December 11:59:59 to 1 January 00:00:00 but I don't think that will happen. This year was rather disappointing in terms of love and laughter. There were too many shifting perspectives and transformations for me to settle comfortably in one position.
I am about as nice as a wet puppy. Messy, overdependent, somewhat adorable. I am moderately talented at telling compelling stories. I have a shitty sense of humor.
The first of eight finals is tomorrow at 08:00 and yet here I am at 12 in the morning, writing. That is very typical of me and I have resigned myself to the fact that I write best when I am supposed to be doing something else. Fortunately, tomorrow's final is for English. — "Isn't it lovely?", he asked. She stood quiet for a moment. "Why, yes—yes, it certainly is."