(no subject)
“Summertime in the Outskirts of a Modern Country.”
I spent that summer reading and learning. Maybe I went crazy, or maybe I simply became more observant, but it seems like it wasn’t enough by the time I was through. I listened to songs of solitude and longing in the midst of jollity, and I listened to summery, ridiculously cheerful music in the night when I felt like no one could hear what I wanted or needed. But it didn’t matter because it still felt relevant.
That was the summer when I sat in front of a blazing fire listening to acoustic guitars and teenagers telling stories, pretending to be superior and wise, although they had naught but a few years and a pack of cigarettes under their belt. That was the summer that I learned that cuffed shorts were the cutest thing known to mankind, that sunburn can look beautiful, and that feeling like a child is always going to be becoming. That was the summer that I forgot to read the poem that hangs above the library. It felt so insignificant, but now it means everything.
Now, when I turn the page of this forgotten tome, it feels familiar, and I can retrace every step I took, from dog-ear to forgotten bookmark. It truly was a summer of tra-la-la’s and la-ti-da’s. It was a summer of all give and all take. It was anticipation, it was immaturity, it was things written in a composition notebook ten years past its prime.
i felt like writing tonight. and i was listening to good music, so it helped me.
kate