| Sometimes I feel that we are in a headlong rush, leaving all of our best moments in the past, retained as simply memories. All of us slowly drifting further and further from the best days of our lives.
And sometimes I don't. |
| |
| Borderline
He stood there,
the razor blade beneath,
cutting into the soles of shoes,
a precarious drop to either side.
I am, simply put, a man who looks back.
Cleanly severing ties is not for me.
Once, I thought it was because
I liked to be immersed in my exquisite agony.
Perhaps, at the time, it was true.
He was a man who had once needed
to surge to the surface,
gasp for air,
before plunging back down again.
He was a different man now.
Drowning does that to you.
Now, I see, it is simply
that I do not want to forget.
Really, I want to immerse myself
in the intimate details,
summon your flowery scent,
again taste your lips on mine.
A thin strand of saliva,
sticking to lips as we
stretch apart.
His situation was no less laborious, now.
He simply managed it more astutely.
There was no panicked kicking of feet,
trying to free himself
from some arcane threat.
No, in this moment
only patience, understanding, and wisdom.
I could never walk away
without looking back.
Even if it notches my sole.
|
| |
| You cut your own hair tonight.
It was something only vaguely planned,
thought out in the way only hopes and dreams are.
An intent that was never expected to come to far-fetched fruition,
but on impulse, was.
It wasn’t perfect—most things aren’t—
but every strand,
every lock of hair,
was exactly where it needed to be,
to show exactly who you were.
In your self-styled snipping,
no one but you cared
about the individual parts—the pieces—
because the whole is all anyone saw..
And the whole was you.
It didn’t matter that it was partially uneven,
some of the edges rough,
some of ends split.
It didn’t matter.
Especially not to me.
Your hair was just like your clothing.
Different, individual, maybe clashing,
but all it added to, was a beautiful girl—
who wasn’t perfect
who had her flaws
who questioned herself
who didn’t have all the answers
who feared—like all of us do
who worried about what others thought
like all of us do.
|
| |
| Nationals was a blast! Bronze in Informative and Silver in Reader's Theater!
Here are a small sampling of quotes from the past week:
All the philosopher's were drunk shits. -Ryan
I may be a bitch, but I'm your guys' bitch! -Neal
I've never seen anybody walk a bunny. Portland is so cool! -Julie
And this week's favorite quote goes to Ryan:
You are a piggybacking cunt!
....I think you had to be there. |
| |
