(no subject)
I woke up this morning at 6:30 am to take my roomate to the airport after she missed her flight.
I saw the sunrise. Sunrises are like sunsets, only more magnificent because the sunrise holds the day releasing moments through the color it spreads across the sky.
I want to make a documentary about the custodial workers in my dorm.
I think they are the most beautiful people in this place.
This morning, the little wrinkled man of slouchty stature--whose name I image to be Bernie-- was restacking magazines from a counter top to a shelf. The counter and the shelf are on opposite sides of the lobby.
There's a woman I think that would be named Sandra or Sue-- she reminds me too much of my mother. She's a big, tall woman with a horrible haircut that she takes too seriously. She takes her job very seriously and doesn't smile. I imagine she complains about the people she works for when she goes home at night.
There's a black man that always wears a knit hat. I think his name would be Aflred-- or some variation on that. He smiles. I usually expect him to burst out into song, but he never does.
There's a beautiful African woman with perfectly braided hair and skin as dark and beautiful as the night. She is young and speaks with a heavy accent. I have no idea what her name might be, but I know it would sound as beautiful as she is. She, like the others, usually averts her eyes to the floor. Today, when I was walking down the hall she lifted her eyes.
"Good morning," I said to her.
"Good morning," she replied like a smile.
"No. Afternoon, I meant. Good afternoon. You've been awake for hours." It was 11:30.
She laughed, shook her head, and brushed the air with her Tim Burton hand, "Morning," she reassured as I walked down the hall to my room.
I suppose things always are a morning.
Morning means there's more to come.
Morning gives you more to dream for.
Morning gives you what night takes away: color.
The other night, I was seeing things in black and white. I didn't like it very much at all.
P.S. I'll be home soon. I can't wait to see your beautiful faces.
P.P.S. If anyone has/ gets their hands on any Nicolai Dunger albums (especially Soul Rush), I would love you forever. And pay you very handsomly.
I saw the sunrise. Sunrises are like sunsets, only more magnificent because the sunrise holds the day releasing moments through the color it spreads across the sky.
I want to make a documentary about the custodial workers in my dorm.
I think they are the most beautiful people in this place.
This morning, the little wrinkled man of slouchty stature--whose name I image to be Bernie-- was restacking magazines from a counter top to a shelf. The counter and the shelf are on opposite sides of the lobby.
There's a woman I think that would be named Sandra or Sue-- she reminds me too much of my mother. She's a big, tall woman with a horrible haircut that she takes too seriously. She takes her job very seriously and doesn't smile. I imagine she complains about the people she works for when she goes home at night.
There's a black man that always wears a knit hat. I think his name would be Aflred-- or some variation on that. He smiles. I usually expect him to burst out into song, but he never does.
There's a beautiful African woman with perfectly braided hair and skin as dark and beautiful as the night. She is young and speaks with a heavy accent. I have no idea what her name might be, but I know it would sound as beautiful as she is. She, like the others, usually averts her eyes to the floor. Today, when I was walking down the hall she lifted her eyes.
"Good morning," I said to her.
"Good morning," she replied like a smile.
"No. Afternoon, I meant. Good afternoon. You've been awake for hours." It was 11:30.
She laughed, shook her head, and brushed the air with her Tim Burton hand, "Morning," she reassured as I walked down the hall to my room.
I suppose things always are a morning.
Morning means there's more to come.
Morning gives you more to dream for.
Morning gives you what night takes away: color.
The other night, I was seeing things in black and white. I didn't like it very much at all.
P.S. I'll be home soon. I can't wait to see your beautiful faces.
P.P.S. If anyone has/ gets their hands on any Nicolai Dunger albums (especially Soul Rush), I would love you forever. And pay you very handsomly.