Nothing could possibly be better

than what I imagine in the dark corners I cannot see, but you know what?

Rain strokes my feet and the music I drive to is mine, just mine. Orange lights in night puddles and softness in the chill. "I miss you!" she exclaims and my goodness, I miss you too!

And you should know that I've made this world, and I am all right.

2.27 and 57 degrees?

The worst of winter has whispered away and my eyes are still up, my humanity's in tact, what's next what's next?

And whatever follows, well -- it will be handled in hot skin crashing into ocean and fizzling in rocking cold waves, the ones that sing without words until you hear nothing else.

"It was like trying to borrow a dollar, getting turned down, and asking for 50 grand instead."

Thank you, High Fidelity, for making my life make sense!!

--

I feel both wrong and right.

calm as the stream

He was right that I needed silence.

I feel so free.

the right way

It's strange to trust myself but I am wired at 3 am because I am right.

Dark curves and white lights. I don't need drink or drug but damn, I'll take chocolate. Can we be ourselves in loose clothes and quick lips? I hope so. We play them best.

And I think I'm more myself here than I was much of the time elsewhere: silly and sassy with a leg up on the couch and a hand coloring, talking crying laughing at 3, 4, 5am, face stoic and voice stern with lines crossed, the writer the runner the gymnast the girl. Yet so much beyond the girl. Twenty-three and I feel it without fear. I'm this tall forever and I like it down here, my mind dances high enough for both of us.

You're the only one I really sing with. We don't know where to go but we sing the same words. I think I just wanted human contact, I say, and you laugh because you know. I tell you my plans because I'm finally excited--I'm happy now and what says I won't be then?

"I think you're going the right way!" you say.

I think so too.

The Part Where He Tells Her He Needs to Go Find Himself

Gotta love dreams!:

He's sleeping under the blanket in her brother's old room. She crawls in next to him. He wakes up. He says things she doesn't quite understand.

Then he says, "I'm going to Washington, D.C." He looks at her meaningfully.

She imagines him walking off the steps of a plane, suitcase in hand. She knows that look but thinks there must be some logic to it... "Well, are you coming back?" she says.

"Oh, yeah," he says. "But like Bob Dylan says, it feels like going home."

Take it to the limit!

Published....again?

What is this luck?!

happy

I drive at night and wonder if there is anything more beautiful than moon over water.

another way of walking

I love everything that is beautiful. This humid breeze, these clouds over bay.

I finish. I float.

I have always loved your soul.

Something sings softly now but I can only smile. Someday or never will come to pass.

And yet--yes: I will step outside on windy warm winter's day and feel this way.

city, my mistress

I've been here how many times? but Friday night, I am finally seduced. The night is warm enough to wander and though we never get where we planned, off-beat lights hit rhythm with music and signs and I want more.

6 billion

Rendered obsolete.

Slow death of Cortland winter did not prepare me for winds this sharp and sudden. I squint my eyes against sun on snow and wonder about life in that border city...

Then Deana and Pete are rapping, Caralyn's drawing pictures, and I can't cry because I'm laughing too much. Practicum, BK crowns, spontaneous visits, Anberlin, Coheed, responsible city schemes, Fischer Nabokov and Chekhov...

There are so many right paths. There are so many perfect ways.

am I just bad luck?

One of my characters wakes up to see a ghost. Another is about to run into the street at precisely the wrong moment. I'm doing quite all right in comparison.

--

I always turn the car around.

And so what if I do? I wore flip-flops today. Sun against my face (what I know and what I feel disagree). I am glad to be this. Me. She.

one (and-a-half-ish) month(s) down

February is here. One-and-a-half-ish winter months down. One-and-half-ish to go.

Msn says it's 32 degrees in New York, NY, two hours from here but close enough. I run and think of spring sunshine on bare legs. Wind whips headphones away. But I roll up my sleeves and realize that this might be the worst of winter.

I can take it.

"Are you okay tonight?" she asks on the phone.

More than okay tonight.