(no subject)
There are some songs, some very specific pieces of music that I can hear, and I'm right back there. It's 2006, and I'm sitting in my dorm, staring out the the window at the imperceptible darkness and the lights of Mitchell Hall, across the lawn. I'm waiting for you to come throw stones at my window, Mike Moody. Or maybe I'm waiting to see if *she* is sneaking out across the dark expanse to see you.
Either way, six years later, I still feel the tightness of anticipation in my chest.
Those are the only moments I am able to discern whether or not I'm still alive. Whether or not I'm still in there, somewhere.
I miss that knife-edge closeness we had. I miss the pursuit. I miss not knowing you so well. I miss Mallory, and our stories. I miss sneaking out of our room in the middle of the night, in my Garfield pajamas, to let you in, and sneak off to the laundry room, since it was the only door with a lock in the entire building.
I miss the adventure of discovery. The time I had to myself. The time I wasted.
Mostly, I miss the aching. Before I had all desire or opinion beaten out of me. I miss wanting something so badly I ache for it. I'm tortured. I miss the sound that torture made in my soul. That desire.
I have no desire now. I'm just a ghost ship, drifting alone on the sea, pushed wherever the wind wants me.
Either way, six years later, I still feel the tightness of anticipation in my chest.
Those are the only moments I am able to discern whether or not I'm still alive. Whether or not I'm still in there, somewhere.
I miss that knife-edge closeness we had. I miss the pursuit. I miss not knowing you so well. I miss Mallory, and our stories. I miss sneaking out of our room in the middle of the night, in my Garfield pajamas, to let you in, and sneak off to the laundry room, since it was the only door with a lock in the entire building.
I miss the adventure of discovery. The time I had to myself. The time I wasted.
Mostly, I miss the aching. Before I had all desire or opinion beaten out of me. I miss wanting something so badly I ache for it. I'm tortured. I miss the sound that torture made in my soul. That desire.
I have no desire now. I'm just a ghost ship, drifting alone on the sea, pushed wherever the wind wants me.