the way you know how

"Dance it like you know how," she says.

"You can do it!" they call.

Put your feet on the beam.

I won't let you down.

Oh, baby, this is perfection.

there's another world inside of me

that you may never see.

There are some things I would never do. I won't share specifically. But someday, you may find yourself in the same position, with similar contemplations, and you will know what I mean.

This is my reaction.

"I was almost perpetually in contemplation of them"

There is a disparity between what they want to talk about and what I want to think about.

squinted eyes

Sunburn feels so good.

--

Up, down, racing, catching itself, like the mind before sleep.

But I'm awake now (should be, at least). Do I leap from word to word? I don't know what you wish to hear. Do I give it resonance you may miss? Or will you say, "Slow down, I want to hear it all?"

Applause.

I like this.

catharsis (i like the word; it fits)

The body is amazing.

You can barely walk without noticeable effort. How will you do this?

You feel you can't. But you will. So you can.

My mind races. I write, erase, consider, rephrase, rearrange, and write again.

I love this.

Attitude is indeed contagious.

fairy tales and real-life application

The human goal: To make meaning in and of an absurd universe.

Are we wanted? Will we be loved despite age or be replaced? Others in the class may sleep or look at one another skeptically, but I understand. Fairy tales, so basic in good contrasted against evil, address those base troubles which haunt and taunt us through every step of life.

Women may feel alone, but their feelings are not singular or irrational.

Your face, peaceful as a child laying down to rest. Why do you remind me of a child in this moment? Why does it move me so?

Because you place yourself before me with entire vulnerability, and you know this, and at the exact same time, you cannot conceal your joy.

ne'er far from here

(beware the ides of march!)

Clouds whisked away in face of the moon's confident gaze. Her brightness blinks in my eyes as I close them.

Cold winds. Could this be fall? Spring is on the way, I recall, and then they do not chill me.

It gets better.

a fiction-worthy wind

I feel nostalgia for a place I've seen briefly and a life I've never lived.

It must be damn painful in that mind, but so intriguing for one outside.

In my world, it's time to finish a paper, get this knee to stop cracking, and wander for a meal eventually.

How...anti-climatic.

I sometimes wish your stories -- selections of them -- were mine. But each to his fate. I may live vicariously through others, but I may be able to translate those words into Spanish.

Hm.

it occurred to me to ask

"Who knows how to play hopscotch?" I ask.

Do children still play hopscotch? I don't know.

Most eagerly raise their hands. "I do!"

In Friendly's last night, as we laugh loudly, a mother walks over with a tiny girl. "She says she recognized one of you as her gymnastics teacher."

Usually running around the gym heedless of anyone's instruction, the child's face is stiffened with embarrassment, but her eyes are intense.

"I have her!" I say.

Games may change. Feelings, never.

sometimes you can't make it on your own

I don't know what's wrong. But I suppose it could be worse.

Snow falls. At least it's vertical today.

I didn't fall. Does that make a difference?

and...

I love her style!!!

intimidada

You can give me any reason to cut me a bit of slack. I'll logic away any of your worries. The same never seems to work for me.

I want this so badly, but I step in front of the people and now I feel unworthy. Embarrassed of myself, almost, as if I need a disclaimer -- this isn't going to be all that exciting, but it will be a challenge for me.

I've never felt that way before. I'd always been eager, despite anyone else's skills, to showcase. Especially last. I will move in a way that you can't.

Except now I'm uncertain. Now I doubt. Now I'm intimidated and not sure if I deserve this, despite how much I've worked for it and continue to work now.

You have to believe me when I say I don't choke under pressure. The adrenaline fires me up. Lately, it's receeded when I needed that final push.

Another chance. To dissemble again?

Tell me why you believe. Maybe I'll believe, too.

transcend

Romantic literature strikes at a time when inspiration and motivation are wanting.

I'd almost forgotten that simple sensation of looking and feeling, without other responsibilities crying at the rim.

Nature provides us, perhaps, with everything - food - resources - inspiration - religion - shelter - simplicity.

I am neither a hippie nor an environmentalist, but I tend to shy away from extravagance. Rarely makeup, some of the same clothes from middle school (hey, they still fit), content with the same technology as long as it functions, always enjoying genuine intellect and wit. I want to like you for what you are, not just for the arts you create.

I would like to walk under the moon on a summer's night in gentle silence, and look up at that with the same name as mine. I want to feel a connection between myth and myself.

Overwhelm me, stars, sky, waves, breezes. Deserts, mesas, oceans, lightning, woods, grass, I have seen you all. But have I lived them?

We could spend the night, watch the earth come up

Without noise, without needless chatter, without need to exist. Just for a night. Just for a moment.

wanderlust

I should spend my free time in writing, really writing. Perhaps tonight! For now, this shall suffice.

I prefer fiction and retrospect. I do not spontaneously react in the wrong way. Ay, girl, haven't you learned from the last time(s)? She's always sorry, even before she's opened her mouth.

I want to roam and run on other lands under this same sun. ((Well, the sun isn't actually out in Cortland at the moment, but one can imagine.)) I need to see another life and live it, for a time. That's what brought me here. That's what bears my mind elsewhere, as much as it frightens me.

Too much, never enough. I enjoy those moments where I feel I am right where I should be, and that neither my words nor dreams shall fly astray. Like with you.

My mind's filled with words right now. Images, interpretations, the significance of a line abruptly ended. Did I solve that riddle? Even if I did, more follow.

I step outside into the brightness, into a world that feels somewhat less satisfying, a little more shallow, before I reassimilate completely.

Words. Real, powerful, heavy, light, and all with meaning. This world makes me forget, sometimes. Silence is not the ending, not at all. This is a feeling.

I don't know if you'd entirely understand.

AAAAHHHHHHH

What the eff am I going to end up doing with my life?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

On the plus side, at least I can do a floor routine.

::would like to run outside and scream a little, into the night::

::at least I know I'm not alone in this sentiment::

Back in high school, I figured that whatever I picked, I could do. Now, I'm not so sure. Or maybe it remains true, this rare sense of self-belief. I just need to manifest it.

Up, up, and awayyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!

color

I take notes diligently, read the assigned texts, and wonder all the while what the hell I'm going to make of myself.

Class participation: pretending to give a damn, but in fact talking for the sake of talking. While your hand is raised, the only thing you notice is that the person speaking hasn't yet made your point. Then, of course, your point is shot down from time to time. But you'll try again anyway. Gotta maximize that twenty percent of your grade, besides making it to class and looking alive. ("Looking," of course, is not synonymous with "being.")

Do I want to be the one to make superior analyses? Do I wish my mind had made that connection? Certainly. But arrogance irritates, even if it is not intended.

I'm sure that many years, in many classrooms, people have prepared for a cozy nap as I raised my hand.

But color makes the difference. Swirls and splashes. Use big words only if you don't fear to say, "Um, like..." when "me and her..." I may be a nerd indeed, but I want to shake you sometimes and bring warmth to your stoic gray, even if your new vigor breeds a mistake or two. You'd be far more bearable.

I wonder what you dream at night as you ritually lay down at the appointed hour (right to the minute, I'd guess). Do you even dream in color? When you point to life experiences, what have you to show? Was it something you read elsewhere?

I read and say, "Damn, I wish I wrote that."

I want to live. Those lines you pour over and analyze, I want those to someday be the ones I wrote.

Here's to the cone-stealers, the pecan-square-thiefs, the random drivers, the ones who pump up the music and sing out of tune, the ones who give a damn for each other but not for limits of time or space or possibility. Here's to the stories we weave each day, the laughs and commentary we find amidst the most mundane circumstances. The horizon tantalizes. No ending here.

double time

Or half time? I can't decide which. Double practices makes each day feel like two. Has it only been a week?

I do know that I have odd bread cravings. Rain (rain? Why rain?) pours. Just yesterday, the sun peered out and I squinted my eyes. Not today. Ice doesn't feel cold enough when the throb burns hotter than usual. Funny things have happened, pictures snapped, comments swapped. Everything is better than a year ago, that is for sure.

Gray seeps in some days. Sometimes I shift in my own skin, not sure if it's all right or what to do with myself. Orange juice and milk freeze by the morning. I'd like to be clever, but I'm not always inspired.

But color will return.

In the meantime, I close my eyes. In the darkness, I see you.

tracing

If I hear these chords, I can imagine your willing ears. If I sing these harmonies, perhaps your voice will ring with mine.

I'll learn who you are, the person behind the words and laughs and snips of song lyrics.

You will read, write, witness. Will you imagine my eyes running before you over these words? Will you know me?

I would like to follow the path of someone strong and skilled. Leave your traces and I'll learn the way.

Someday, hopefully, these will become a part of who I am. Who I will be.