I sat around the first few weeks waiting for something to feel different.
School was still done.
Work was still waiting.
Those internships still existed.
I wasn’t speaking with A.
I wasn’t in Love with B.
I’m pretending to be mad at C.
And even then I was not safe.
Then it occurs to me – 5 AM while I’m reading one of my five books in a dimly lit room filled with texts and dirt.
Maybe it’s all just a bit more complicated than I thought. Maybe it’s Girls or Marquez, or the sneaking suspicion that girl I almost made out with on my bed once isn’t going to return my calls anymore.
That we’re transitory, or I am. Or we’re bound for change. Chekov believed it was all beautiful, all anguish, but that we had to work our hearts out to get there. Authors suggest time and again that it’s all as difficult as it looks – but still we’re oblivious.
Maybe it’s all just bittersweet. And maybe I should just expect it all to get a little weirder, and stop waiting around for things to be so pleasant. There are, after all, mistakes to be made.
I think I realized it’s all a bit more complicated than it seems. And if that’s the only realization I carry with me to school next year, I still think I’ll be able to make more sense of it.
“And I really want to see you tonight.”
[“Poor Places”, 2001]
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