I am between worlds, in the rift of lingering memory, in the dog days of childhood, bent trees teeming with fig fruits, villas on stilts, skin crusted with sand, and star spangled skies. Sisters in the backseat, threadbare backpacks with their bellies emptied between us, cats cradle strings, thumbed thrift books, tattered paperbacks, and paper dolls.
Then skimming beneath the seats for the one scuffed sandal that slipped out of reach, limbs all asleep, blood rushing back in bursts, like lit firecrackers beneath our skin, as we tumbled akin from the family minivan, into the shrunken sleeve of heat. It is never the same, we change. We grow old, and if one isn’t careful, growing up can be slow death to the soul. You cannot let the years use you up, lick from you the last drop.
Society has become slugs festering in the sun, flesh consuming flesh. I am in a seeker of enlightenment, fulfillment, joyousness; leeched of all lust for money, for meaningless luxury. Comfort is for cowards, come sweat and strife, strike like a viper, and I will milk the poison from my mind.
They cry, “You cannot survive outside the rat race of society!”, and I, “Have any of you tried?” They further, “You won’t have an automobile nor a house!” “See these feet, they can carry me, and while you, in your bed, look into pale planks, I look into a depthless galaxy.”
So, go and throw my bones to the wild beasts, swallow your pills, and grit your teeth. What I am afraid of is apathy, egos, and greed, the eluding of truth, regret, eternity. Cut me from this leash! If I am committed, it is to independence from the chokeholds of conformity, of currencies.
I am six, I am eight, I am ten again, in a baptism of sunbeams and folded limbs, freckled cheek pressed to the pillowcase, smelling of peaches and warm flesh. Somewhere inside, I am still this child, seeing the world with wide-eye wonder, forever free, and wild.
what are the odds of finding someone who can finish your sentences? who will let you cut in line. who knows not to just lend a hand or an ear when you need them to give you their spine. who keeps every secret, saves every letter, tells you how you really look. remembers every single one of your birthdays, without checking facebook. what are the chances of finding someone who knows your poetry by heart? who won’t freak out if you’re hanging out and accidentally fart.
I will always save you a seat. I will always pick you to be my partner even though you are terrible at handball. when you lose everything in the fire, my home will be your home. when you get old and can no longer remember my face, I will meet you for the first time again and again. when they make fun of your accent, I will take you swimming because we all sound the same underwater. when Ellis Island tries to erase your past, I will call you by your real name. when they call your number for the draft, I will enlist to fight beside you. I will march with you from Selma to Montgomery and back as many times as it takes. we will stand together against the hoses and the dogs because it didn’t start with us.
it started with Lennon and McCartney. it started with Thelma and Louise. Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin. Bert and Ernie. Abbott and Castello. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Mario and Luigi. Watson and Sherlock.
& they could tell you what a miracle this is. they could tell you how rare this is. but they could tell you how rare it always is. the chances are slim. the cards are always stacked against you. the odds, always low.
but i have seen the best of you and the worst of you and i choose both. i want to share ever single one of your sunshines and save some for later. i will tuck them into my pockets so i can give them back to you when the rains fall hard. friend, i want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself. i want to be the air in your lungs to remind you to breathe easy. when the walls come down, when the thunder rumbles, when nobody else is home, hold my hand and i promise i wont let go
“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees – just as things grow in fast movies – I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via dearlittlepea)
what are the odds of finding someone who can finish your sentences? who will let you cut in line. who knows not to just lend a hand or an ear when you need them to give you their spine. who keeps every secret, saves every letter, tells you how you really look. remembers every single one of your…
“As you can see, a very delicate combination of complex ingredients is the key. First, we put in some random thoughts. And then, we add a little bit of reminiscences of the day… mixed with some memories from the past. That’s for two people. Love, friendships, relationships… and all those "ships", together with songs you heard during the day, things you saw, and also, uh… personal… Okay, I think it’s done.”—The Science of Sleep