Monday, September 08, 2003
pie is awesome!
"hi, my name is sarah."
we are both running to the bus stop. freshman, boston university and blonde. that's what i get out of her. she runs into a man wearing a cowboy hat and she waves goodbye. i have no idea what to look for. he could be any of these people.
he's not at mcdonalds, the gift store and never exits the bathroom. every boy with long hair is him. i make googly eyes at an old man. i walk away.
no one seems to be him.
___________________________________
then he's in my arms.
he's a lot shorter than i thought he would be, and his hair is a lot longer. it's just right though. on him. then he fumbles around in his bag for something. i get nervous. i hate gifts in public. i'm hoping for a bomb or a tissue or chapstick. no gifts.
"does this look like a tulip?" it's a white piece of paper with a pencil drawn tulip. i try not to look too excited. "yeah, it does."
i drag him through chinatown. i'm lost and like a man i say i'm lost repeatedly but never ask for directions. i just keep trudging forward hoping we run into something familiar. i keep muttering under my breath and laughing.
he can't make a decision and i just end up dragging him everywhere. wide-eyed he walks into my dining hall, at first believing that we were taking a short cut, only to find out this was an emerson building. "we don't have anything like this at umass." i nod, umass sucks.
he hits his head on the hanging light. we leave.
___________________________________
harvard square is the only place i can think of right then. the only place where i can entertain us for free. i want to wrestle the subway punks but he doesn't so much go for that idea. in fact, he mentions he'll run for help everytime a scenario comes up where i get attacked. this can't be good. i'm glad i'm trained in the way of the ninja.
i clumsily drag him down alleys exploring where no one else would let me before. i find a lost CD Spins down a lost road -- hipsters only, it should say right above the stop signs to enter.
i see brian. the boy i've supposed to be with in my dreams. the boy i'll never have. i hold his hand tighter.
we circle the same blocks and walk past the same street musicians. they start to recognize us. it's too bad i'm broke. we leave, ryan adams is in my purse as a consolation prize for all the hard work.
___________________________________
it's nice to share my bed with someone. the empty space doesn't seem so big. i keep looking over and thinking i'm in the bed with a pretty girl. he falls asleep before i do. i'm really glad he doesn't snore.
___________________________________
he likes to experiment with salad dressing, perhaps i can read his salad like a mood ring. he picks at his food. and he tells me stories about "the boys" or "the gang" and it makes me sad that i don't have that. i don't have anyone to remember that fondly or even unfondly.
he eats like a bird. two bites in about an hour. he makes me feel like a walrus.
we walk around more. hours and hours of walking and pointing. long stories that end with, "yeah, that had a point when i started, really." i hold his hand and drag him into everywhere i want to go. he never complains other than to say that he doesn't want to go back to my room or that he doesn't know what he should be doing or that he's bored.
he never seems happy. at least, i can never tell.
the only time i can tell he's giving his all is when i kiss him. it's like he never wants to let go, i'm his life support. his breath.
___________________________________
i told him i would cry. i knew i would. but just as soon as it starts, it stops. sometimes i know i'm looking for something too hard. i'm not even sure what i'm looking for anymore. it just all seems wrong and i can't tell what's right.
he talks more than i do and it surprises me. i just don't know what to say. i must come across as arrogant and lost. he makes me feel tired and the whole weekend feels like i'm lying in bed even when my feet are pounding against the concrete.
i just keep thinking about what i'm going to write. it's like i can't live normally. everything is words for later. everything is inspiration.
on the way home from the bus, i see a poster for david bowie's new album. i really like his new haircut.
¶ 3:28 AM
|
"hi, my name is sarah."
we are both running to the bus stop. freshman, boston university and blonde. that's what i get out of her. she runs into a man wearing a cowboy hat and she waves goodbye. i have no idea what to look for. he could be any of these people.
he's not at mcdonalds, the gift store and never exits the bathroom. every boy with long hair is him. i make googly eyes at an old man. i walk away.
no one seems to be him.
___________________________________
then he's in my arms.
he's a lot shorter than i thought he would be, and his hair is a lot longer. it's just right though. on him. then he fumbles around in his bag for something. i get nervous. i hate gifts in public. i'm hoping for a bomb or a tissue or chapstick. no gifts.
"does this look like a tulip?" it's a white piece of paper with a pencil drawn tulip. i try not to look too excited. "yeah, it does."
i drag him through chinatown. i'm lost and like a man i say i'm lost repeatedly but never ask for directions. i just keep trudging forward hoping we run into something familiar. i keep muttering under my breath and laughing.
he can't make a decision and i just end up dragging him everywhere. wide-eyed he walks into my dining hall, at first believing that we were taking a short cut, only to find out this was an emerson building. "we don't have anything like this at umass." i nod, umass sucks.
he hits his head on the hanging light. we leave.
___________________________________
harvard square is the only place i can think of right then. the only place where i can entertain us for free. i want to wrestle the subway punks but he doesn't so much go for that idea. in fact, he mentions he'll run for help everytime a scenario comes up where i get attacked. this can't be good. i'm glad i'm trained in the way of the ninja.
i clumsily drag him down alleys exploring where no one else would let me before. i find a lost CD Spins down a lost road -- hipsters only, it should say right above the stop signs to enter.
i see brian. the boy i've supposed to be with in my dreams. the boy i'll never have. i hold his hand tighter.
we circle the same blocks and walk past the same street musicians. they start to recognize us. it's too bad i'm broke. we leave, ryan adams is in my purse as a consolation prize for all the hard work.
___________________________________
it's nice to share my bed with someone. the empty space doesn't seem so big. i keep looking over and thinking i'm in the bed with a pretty girl. he falls asleep before i do. i'm really glad he doesn't snore.
___________________________________
he likes to experiment with salad dressing, perhaps i can read his salad like a mood ring. he picks at his food. and he tells me stories about "the boys" or "the gang" and it makes me sad that i don't have that. i don't have anyone to remember that fondly or even unfondly.
he eats like a bird. two bites in about an hour. he makes me feel like a walrus.
we walk around more. hours and hours of walking and pointing. long stories that end with, "yeah, that had a point when i started, really." i hold his hand and drag him into everywhere i want to go. he never complains other than to say that he doesn't want to go back to my room or that he doesn't know what he should be doing or that he's bored.
he never seems happy. at least, i can never tell.
the only time i can tell he's giving his all is when i kiss him. it's like he never wants to let go, i'm his life support. his breath.
___________________________________
i told him i would cry. i knew i would. but just as soon as it starts, it stops. sometimes i know i'm looking for something too hard. i'm not even sure what i'm looking for anymore. it just all seems wrong and i can't tell what's right.
he talks more than i do and it surprises me. i just don't know what to say. i must come across as arrogant and lost. he makes me feel tired and the whole weekend feels like i'm lying in bed even when my feet are pounding against the concrete.
i just keep thinking about what i'm going to write. it's like i can't live normally. everything is words for later. everything is inspiration.
on the way home from the bus, i see a poster for david bowie's new album. i really like his new haircut.
¶ 3:28 AM
|
