off again

to be whisked off at 2am in a van of pseudo-strangers
to impose on a group of church kids who all grew up together and went to this camp since they themselves were in the cottage, the village, that other section for teens beginning with "n"
see, i don't even know the terms!
and now, we're all staff at this camp
to them, as familiar and beloved as aurora is to me
i'm so intimidated
it's not just being a counselor at a camp i've never been to
but the fact that things are so different here
they emphasize different things
boys and girls sit on opposite sides of the room in folding chairs rather than strewn about a floor as intimate as those born brothers and sisters
everyone dresses up-
jeans aren't allowed, girls don heels, blouses, and skirts
worship involves sitting down and words are sung under breaths
the only belting is done by leather strips holding up the guys' dress pants
no one claps or grooves to the music or raises their hands in surrender
i know, i know
they're little things
i'm not judging
or at least i'm trying not to
i'm just observing.

and this camp is supposedly even more conservative
the packing list confused me so
what is there left to be worn?

your silence also confuses me
and now i'm off again
my turn to be silent.

forget you.

glass half empty

whenever i see military men and women at airports, i always assume that they're headed home. i guess i can't even say that i "assume" because an assumption involves a second option that has been written off whereas i take it for granted that they're all heading home and it doesn't cross my mind that maybe, they're leaving.

that is until on our flight back from quebec when i overheard the following exchange between the men in the row behind me, two of which were in uniform:
16A- so are you boys heading out or heading home?
16B & 16C- unfortunately, heading out.
and thus my glass half full of naïvité was poured out as i realized that they weren't a flight away from the arms of loved ones who might as well have been holding their breaths this whole time. well technically, they were going a flight away, just in the less favorable direction.
and the holding of breaths recommences.

16B moved to 14F to escape being stuck in the middle, the least enviable seat, placing him across the aisle from an amiable baby girl with big eyes and an easy smile, proudly displaying the few teeth she had, countable on merely one of her soft baby hands. i watched him watch her with a smile playing on his face and adoration trying to hold its ground against the ungovernable advance of sadness in his eyes, beneath his long lashes, for he had long lovely lashes. i couldn't help wonder if he had children, if he had someone he wanted to have children with, and at the very least, he was the child of someone.

he was somebody's someone, a neighbor, a husband
a brother, a father, and a mother's only son
he was an uncle, a cousin, somebody's best friend
and i'm sure at times a shoulder to lean on
he was somebody's someone

the words of lonestar came to mind as i coveted his thoughts. who was he missing? which goodbye was he playing in his head? surely these goodbyes weren't pervaded by an air of lightness founded by transience and tears weren't hard to come by. what did he fear the most? did he regret anything? and most of all why?

what good possibly comes from going through war? the best case scenerio is that you survive, but at what cost? i saw on the news while i was in canada, two brothers who had just returned home from serving the country, maybe even on their plane ride home, they were posed the same question, "heading home or heading out?" and they had been able to answer with relief, home. and the poser of the question would surely have lit up with an irrepressible smile for their well-beings--they survived. only to be killed soon after, the both of them, in a car accident. life is tragic. death is imminently persistent, why tease it further? why poke it with a rustic stick, even one with a verdant leaf breathing some life into it, and provoke it?

prayerfully yours, in the words of the USO, until every one comes home.

what about us

shadows fill an empty heart

as love is fading

from all the things that we are

but are not saying

what if it's lost behind 

words we could never find

baby, before it's too late

what about now?

will we ever find the words

or will we let it pass undefined

as an irresolute specter

selfish vs. selfless

i want to speak the words that'll make your heart yearn
yet at the same time, i feel a conflicting desire to soothe your heart
to alleviate your angst and deliver the sun into your storming emotions

i really don't know which words i'll find

celestial eyes

i see the moon and the moon sees me
the moon sees somebody i'd like to see

i envy you, mr. man on the moon
reach down and grasp my outstretched hands
hoist me beyond the possessive embrace of gravity
just for a night to sit with you
and see what you see

but that's it, isn't it
the point we all glean over
all you can, is see
never to know, never to be known
always at a distance
the most remote of frays
not even a face in the crowd
rather, an inky shadow swallowed by obscuring darkness

you see without limit
but is anything even lovely in your sight
or do your eyes simply skim over this irrelevant world
with all its irrelevant faces that we so love and long for

testaments to impatience

i have a terrible habit of reading ahead
maybe not so much reading as skimming
when things get predictably bad,
when i suspect someone might die,
even simply when things start to slow down,
i find myself casually flipping pages, skimming for names to make sure they stick around, catching glimpses of the future-
"alex rider!" he called out in a thin voice, filled with hate. "you have three seconds to show yourself. otherwise you will see your godfather's brains all over the highway."

you've gotta understand,
waiting is mad hard for me.

pixelated

i feel so much angst
and not the poetic kind
the kind that makes me want to dance, no,
stomp my fingers across the keyboard and spawn cacophonous nonsense.
i try to write things of substance, to be real with myself,
to explain my heart to my brain,
to impose my brain on my heart,
but i can't
i can't
i can't
i can't
i can't
i freaking can't
because every time i try to organize my thoughts my frustration whirlwinds in like it owns the place and i'm back to square one
maybe it's even blown me past that and onto some obscure negative squares

we were pixelated,
how fitting.
but at least pixels have enough substance to abridge a gaping hole

i'm not going to hide behind lyrics this time-
damn, i miss you tonight.
that's one of the few thing i'm sure of.

i wonder

if the checkout lady at borders judged me for buying a magazine.
if IMing on my phone is included in my unlimited texting plan.
if i made the right choice by choosing at&t.
if i need 900 minutes a month; i doubt it.
if the thirst quenching gum they sell at sports authority is legit.
if you've memorized the verse yet and whether you truly liked the verse or if you found it irrelevant like i've found certain memory verses.
if you've lost interest.

301-312-2838
any takers?

first impress-ives

early on every summer, i buy things that i think,
surely this is it. this is the outfit i will wear on the first day of school.
there was that year with the cutesy little red monkey top, XL from the children's section matched with the younique jeans with the grey and red strip and the drawstring.
funny thing was,
not only did i not wear them on the first day of school,
i never really wore either at all.

but i'm at it again.
as of tonight,
i'll be the girl in the bright yellow leggings.
hey, you.

serial killer

(ha.. ha.)

lovely,
the roof of my mouth is all stinging and raw
dang peanut butter mini-swirlz
playing rough

it seems i'm rolling with the big boys now
no more gentle honey nut cheerios
or dainty lucky charms

gripped

i never realized the extent to which i was attracted to a guy who could really throw a football
i can't even explain it in words right now, i'm so gripped
practically by my nonexistant laces like a football cradled in their hands
it's like they just ride their beauticiously perfectly flat spiraling football straight into my heart
it literally takes my breath away when i see a throw like that (yes, winston, it's your throw that has inspired this.)
it's wonder,
rapture,
envy,
admiration,
adoration.

oh, baby.

make new friends

i'd forgotten how hard the creation stages of friendship were
i'd gotten so comfortable left with only the task of maintenance
was it always this awkward?
the conversations this forced?
how long is it supposed to take before we stop having to try so hard?
at what point is the small talk supposed to grow up?

it feels like we're smashing together two pens instead of
one pen and one pen cap
i was thinking more of puzzle pieces but what are the sticky out-y sides of a puzzle called anyway? and how inarticulate would that be to simply call them the sticky out-y sides of a puzzle

maybe we figure it out and turn it around
do a little wiggling
and for a weekend, nestle in this awkward fit

i miss your knowing smile
i miss our friendly banter
i miss the sound of your voice
i miss pretending not to be interested

yea, i'm surprised too
it's you again?

8:18 AM angst

i can't stand machoism
just because you're a guy doesn't make you any more able-bodied than me
don't patronize me

on another note
little things remind me,
this isn't home

explode for me, fireworks
so i don't have to

streetlight people

don't stop believin'
hold on to the feelin
streetlight people

why is that song so popular this summer anyway?
it's not remotely new

i could be streetlight people,
living just to find emotion

jetlag,
i embrace thee.

it still hasn't really hit me that i'm not going back
does that warrant me changing the time zone of my blog?
but that would throw off the essence that time plays in my previous blogs
dates would shift as AMs and PMs relocate

but
by not changing
all present and future times would be off
july 3, 1:27 AM
should i change the timezone on my macbook too?
do i even know how?

these little things,
these traces of permanence,
remind me..

these days-

-the words are so hard to come by
let alone the liquid figments of words uttered directly by the heart

eighteen,
and we begin again

though,
i wish we were flying out at a more romantic hour than 4:50pm

goodbye to you
goodbye to everything i thought i knew