*Listen to Long Way From Home by The Lumineers as you read this
I forgot life could feel like this. Days that go by in a blur and still remember every moment kind of days. Days packed to capacity, over weight limit suitcases, so much love in this broken little heart, it is healed twenty times over. People are capable of causing so much feeling just by existing. By being themselves. "You bring out the best in me" I'll never know if he was being sarcastic in that way he was so cute at, but I'll know that hug was real. The way his arms wrapped around me twenty times over and held me at my waist in that way I like and the way he knew to do without any thought behind it, how he held me there even when I began to let go for fear he would first. I am always so afraid of the other person letting go first, even when that has never in my life been my story. I felt the imagined tips of his imagined fingers graze my skin through the wool of my sweatshirt, cool electricity, legs gone numb. He did not want to let go and I did not want him too. I felt my hands come down between us, palms flat on his chest as I pushed him away with a gentle tenderness I did not know my body to be capable of, "Good night". Good night. "Goodbye" Goodbye. "If you're ever in Madrid..." If you're ever in New York... No one will ever know all that went on in Mather house. Cow talk and sunshine boys and language only we speak. What beautiful crises existed under every twilight sky! "I love you" like habit after just two nights. Grass against my neck and shoulders, the square of my back, webbing of my fingers, soft and sweet and reminding me how alive is everything that holds me up. I have lived here. I have loved here. Taken and released, allowed to slip past. I am ready to go back, even though pieces of me long to stay in the safety free falling brings. I know I must return to finish the unfinished. "I'd like to be a kid just a little bit longer" Ask me a question. "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" Seven. I hope I never forget how real all of this was. Raw without ever being fiction. There is no grand story in any of this. No string of flowery poetry. Only green grass and yellow hammocks and short skirts and long jackets and borrowed unkept coats and lumineers and 11:11 curfew wishes. That is all. No teenage movie. Only life told through wasted time. I never want this to fade, this feeling of forever. I can do anything and be anyone in this moment. I want to know everything there is to know. I want to go everywhere. I want to meet every type of person there is to meet. I want to shake hands with prophets and chefs and killers for a cause. I want to walk down foreign streets with local people who love them in the way one loves home. I want my mind to be in constant motion, I will run to keep up. I've always been a runner. I think I've found my track. The moon is on fire tonight. It is perfect.
