onyourporch.

Violins make for sad music. Italics make for sad words. Headphones call for solace, shaking fingers allow insanity. Squinty eyes assume inebriation, drooping shoulders consider exhaustion. Deconstruct, it what your college is all about. Break it into peices, shred the peices, tear apart the singular peice of paper, shred the leaves, shatter the glass. Makes wholes into parts; create problems where there are none, question everything, assume nothing.

It would be easy, to differentiate between black and white, between the superhero and the villian, between right and wrong. It would be easy for me to have the good guy and the bad guy, I crave that naivety that would transport me to such a leveled playing field. But where am I? Im nuanced, im thinking through waves of color, textures and motives and grains and smooths. I fly through levels of solace and circumstance until my mind spins with the immaterial growth of thoughts and time frames and nature and instinct. I reach rock bottom everyday, sure that sleep and solitude will make it better but I wake only to have realized that rock bottom was just a euphamism for the twists and turns my life has taken.

Your heart beat is in sync with the guitar, for a second you stop typing and allow waves of grief to flow through you, till your heart feels so dented that its going to capsize under the sheer weight of emotion upon emotion upon meltdown. You open your eyes and return to task, shifty eyes and sweaty palms, everything an explanation of all the nothings that flitter in your mind. You feel momentum and you try to measure it, but it leaves as soon as you try to quantify it, much like dreams that you try to remember but find to be slipping away with every resurgence of effort to recall.

The way to judge the progress of a society is to see how much it can do without thinking.

Childhood was a funny time. I dont remember big chunks of it. I feel robbed of a childhood that I myself have stolen, one that ended when I shot up and got a deep set voice at the age of 12. If you look like an adult and sound like an adult you may as well be assumed to be one. And so they dress you in grown up clothes and expose you to grown up things and you become a grown up, you emulate what you see around you, you become what you are conjured up to be. And then the threads in your suit start to come out, or you trip on your grown up lehnga and you realize that you've been placed in an oversized position. And at the end of the day, your still that awkward 12 year old, just a lot better at faking it.

Grip. Release. Grip. Release.

My fingers are so so so so so so tired.

I wake.

One eye opens, a maroon and red comforter surrounds me, my right leg knocks into a wooden banister.

Where am I?

It takes me a whole five minutes to answer that question.

It hurts me that you can see me so broken and not care at all. It hurts me because I gave you my heart and I never really took it back. You're in the past, I know, but its still.. hurtful.

Im so beyond broken that I cant even define myself anymore.

keeponmoving, keeponmovingon.

The day started funny, I overslept and you could tell. Hair tied, a ridiculously formal shirt on with plain blue jeans and boots. Chain smoking, Ipod plugged in, walking without acknowledging all the people you know and kind of know. Run from Econ to the grill to the most inane two hour conversation/waste of time ever. Get back to my room after realizing that I had forgotten my phone there and saw three missed calls. Two from an unrecognizable foreign number and one from you. My phone goes off again, the same unrecognizable number, and I pick up at whim, one foot out the door, the other pausing to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything else.

A familiar voice on the phone says hello, my heart breaks because you sound muffled and pained.

I snap the phone shut, and find myself still in my room, crawled up between the fridge and the laundry basket. A pathetic picture, accented only by the tears streaming down my voice- hypocritical to my steady and calm voice pouring out empty advice. What now? Who's paying for school? Who knows? Who doesn't? Oh my brother, my little little brother. I want to tell him, I should be the one, I dont want to, but I should be the one.

And so I let myself go for about four minutes, crying with noise and sound effects, till I couldnt breathe anymore and pain engulfed my chest. Level out your heaves, stop shaking uncontrollably, your roommate will be back soon, she had never seen me cry, this wasn't going to be the first time. Gathered and relocated to my bed, my phone still gripped in my hand. I flip it open and flip it shut again- who to call? Who to share with? Anyone, but you're at work, you have a midterm at seven, you're sick and you're in class. So I sit, nauseous and claustrophobic. I look out and see the most beautiful day, the slow still fresh on the ground but the sun shining brightly. I get dressed and decide to go for a walk, me and my Ipod, almost seeing if i get through this by myself. I venture out, mellow music in the background, my eyes still swollen. The wind hits you when you leave the dorm and that numbing feeling helps you forget, just for a little while.

You crave that feeling for the rest of the day.

People leave your life, all the time. People have left me, are leaving me, will leave me. People I need and care for and who need me, but thoughts have been lost to sparkdust and commercials and all that other stuff that comes in between knowing someone forever and knowing someone because you're waiting for them to let you down.

Thankyou.

For staying.

I cant get through this by myself, thankyou for not making me feel weak.

Thank you for letting me down, it gives me something to contrast with.

wintermesilly.

'no, nothing is lost









its just frozen in frost'

sunrise,sunrise.

its not romantic here in blue,
swimming, swimming in blue.

And it snowed, it snowed till cars looked like big fluffy marshmallows and you finally had your fill of snow angels and snow ball fights. I had a bus to catch, I had a weekend in Chicago all planned out, but with my luck the buses were canceled and I was stuck in the dump known as my college all weekend. Planning to study and sleep through most if it, I was acutely reminded of Founders Day Ball, the one and only formal held at college and my girls seemed shocked at my indifference to it. Before I knew it, I was being put into a burnt turquoise dress, forced into silver heels and tweaked and teased irrespective of my cries of harassment.

The best nights of your life are not when you meet the love of your life, or when you dance till the early morning. They aren't about the perfect blend of alcohol and weed, they aren't about meeting all the right people and being the social butterfly.

You walk into a room and you know you look good. The dress looks good, the hair is perfect, no complaints in any department. And no matter what happens after that point, you know its been a great night, because it came from within you instead of being brought upon by external factors.

You mingle, too many people to meet, to many pictures to take, to many dances to dance. The dance ends, you go outside to smoke and are told to wait before leaving for the after party because some people are joining us. Who?, you ask.

Turn around, see you walking out the door, yes.

We walk behind the pack of noisy drunkards and make our way towards destination number one. We stay back to finish smoking, lie to our friends and retreat back to a place that is solely yours and mine. Both our phones ring, again and again, and we pick up and lie, over and over again. We talk, for hours and I tell you that I wont love you because you'll leave me soon enough. And you tell me thats no reason, you're here now, May is far far away. We talk about our worlds, and our need to run away from them ever so often, and realize that this was one of those moments. Our friends were party hopping, we were sitting quietly in a room ignoring the background noise.

We leave eventually, you can only treat your friends for shit for so long. We skip to the last party on the list, are met with familiar faces and join the celebrations.

Pause with me darling, pause with me.

Walking back to my room at sunrise, silver heels nervously maneuvering around tufts of snow, my semi-curls bouncing around my face.

If the sun hit her just right, you could see her smiling.

perfectfridaynight.

its only a dream
its all in your head

its only some words, somebody said.

we can believe, what want to believe.

and you can believe in me.