the move

relocation:
dare pear nor

packing boxes

The new blog will be up and running within the next few days. I move in tomorrow.
Things to do:
Return library books
Pick up paycheck
Make Boy packet
Finish packing
Deposit paychecks
See Ani

more

It feels surreal to be packing boxes and starting a new blog and sitting home alone, eating crepes and realizing that I'm going to be ok, this is going to be ok, that it's going to hurt deep down and I'm going to cry and want him back because he feels like home, but that I am going to college and that this is what I've been waiting for, and it's going to be brilliant.

untitled 2

We sit in staccato, learning to whittle the moments into statues, not splinters, and you look beautiful in this light. I tried to tell you once, how in the silks and the skins I reached towards the stars and fell. You scoffed, though I was afraid of the dark still. And I forgave you because when you lay your two hands on my shoulders I exist only in your handprints.
The tenses roll by us in their limousines and Fords, their Harleys and jalopies, gunning their engines and spilling gin on the asphalt. We wave, and they, they find no time to stop and explain the circles we are running. I wish on the stars again, in the wake of their exhaust. I asked you what you wished for; you asked me what I wanted. I didn't have the balls to tell you I want perfection:
I want your smell on my arms where you held me so hard. I want to hold you while you cry. I want to play with your hair as you sleep. I want to fall asleep in the passenger seat as the car careens through the winding roads. I want to touch the stars. I want to turn in to glass. I want to learn modern dance and ballet. I want to wake up, alone or with someone else, it doesn't matter, just to see the sun rise.
You misinterpret my statue. There are no tears in your snow globe of perfection. What I should have wished for, to be exact with the words, was wholeness. The way a moment whirls in around itself and the limousines and Fords and Harleys and jalopies stop for a second, tires screeching and they all crash and they all come out unharmed, dazed and glad to see the sky.
That is what I am wishing for. That is what I want.

sufjan stevens

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