Pas trop tard

Wishful thinking. I had it all planned out. We were going to be wonderful


(and I said)

wonderful


(and they said)

I don't actually know that song.

Well, school is almost done. What else is there to say? I still don't really know where I'll be in...3...months time. Well, I do. But I'm hoping that maybe I don't know it yet. I guess I don't give good first impressions. Or none of them had to ever suffer through Grade 10 Piano. Oh well. I'm still content. Contentedly upset. Flowers. Green. Flowers, green and rain. Repeat it, like a mantra.
(Also, by myself).
(And I don't remember how to make friends.)


And a song, someone sings...

C'est tout

Rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel

J'ai besoin de 13 mains

I was a bird, I was a lover.
I am a fighter, a fighter jet ski.
No use trying,
No point denying
And the fork ran away with the spoon.
Je suis un coureur de bois, et je suis d'accord.

(It makes me sick. Physically ill. My heart rises up into my throat and I just don't think that's where it should be. I learned about that, last year in Bio 20. I liked Bio 20. Where did Bio 20 go? I misplaced it, in my mind, along with everything else that was there. I don't actually care about the class, you do know. That's not the point. Knot. Knot. Tie. Tie. Tiger suit. Say no more, say no more.)

And when there was thunder, she'd say, "It's just the angels moving their furniture." Her voice, bright as


as what? You're always supposed to know what comes next. That is the rule. Rules. Spools of thread. Basting thread. Throw it together, loose. Loose. Like camel pants. Like graduation robes.

The sad, sad truth. No. It's not sad. I can see cherry blossoms, greens, rain, best friends, singing, Sunday dinners, wild Pacific salmon, blacks, plain clothes, people. Living. Breathing. I can almost touch. But then, but then, and then, and then. Say no more, say no more. Just breathe. Just lay your head down, and breathe onto me, into me, through me, so close, 


close


real distance, as we measure it


twilight

Dans mon coeur, et dans ma famille

There is something about letters, and something about coziness, and something about bear scratches on my arms that always bring me back to you. 94670778 seconds, 113607360 heartbeats, (probably more if you consider the strength at which yours beats), and so many lovely, funny smiles. Lovely, funny hands. Lovely, funny kisses.

We're going someplace, unpredictable.
(But in the end, it's right.)

...I made a promise to myself.

Un million d'etoiles, un milliard de secondes

There was a single pebble, dropped in a single pool, somewhere in a forest, far far away.
And you know what ripples do. We all know what ripples do.
I feel like I'm being a little bit pushed to the edges right now. The edges of the fabric. The little frayed bits. The edges of the ocean; the white foamy bits. The edges of the circulatory system; those little tiny capillaries at the ends of my fingers that never seem to exchange any oxygenated blood with deoxygenated blood, because they are always cold.

Remember those times, when the light is shining, and the audience is clapping? Remember those times. Things are coming up too fast. Let's play Whac-A-Mole. But not actually. Remember those times. All those, all those hands, held tight, through thin and thick, thick and thin. Hands, hands, erotic hands. Exotic hands? Esoteric hands? Earnest hands. Important hands. 


Like yours. Warmth and strength and so many, many minutes where words were forgotten or whispered or yelled or pushed or pulled or weaved or crocheted or held or cherished or appreciated or adored. The sun is still shining. I remember hills of green. I remember swings. I remember never letting go, and haircuts to match Carey Mulligan's. Don't forget. Please don't forget.
It's not like I could.
On me, and in me, and all around me. For so long I don't remember otherwise.

Rien d'importance

And then I remember, this is only the start
How much I love the rain
Sweeping, taking, running, loving.
Sweeping me away.
Off my feet,
to the sound of my
alarm clock?

Hands, that take, the sting from pain.
And I feel so lucky. And so wordy. And so out of words. Or maybe we don't need them?
Replaced? Refurnished?
That's quite comfy.
Actually.

Zut alors!

Phlegm, be gone.

It's...it was...that is, it is very...human...izing.


Off to meet my future. I'm going to fall into place. I'm willing myself. Snippinh myself down to fit into that teensy tiny place in the middle of that rainy city by the ocean that I love so much. My hands are reaching, though. My arms can barely touch. They're not that long. I know that I can hold on. There's so much here to grab.
Paperweight.