I saw a car that looked just like yours today in front of the coffee shop where we used to play Scrabble when we were both home from college: a baby-blue Honda, a two-door with headlights that tapered to a point on the edges of the hood. I froze up momentarily as I turned into the parking lot. I was debating shooting straight through, turning around, and driving back home. I haven’t been consciously avoiding you this winter, but when a man in a brown workman’s coat turned a key in the door of the car, I felt so relieved.
Track Name: George Lucas, wherever you are
Being home is watching movies all day and walking downtown with my glasses hung on my shirt so everything goes fuzzy and no one is recognisable and nothing seems quite real. I am worse than the coffee you left on the table in December in the dead of winter. There are more people who I’m terrified to see than there are people I’d like to spend the evening catching up with. I feel constructed.
Track Name: Are you really just an unusual concoction of chemicals drifting in a vast sea of time & space?
In January, I entered my final semester of college and what will probably be my last year at home. I’ll miss the way fresh snow feels under thick boots, constantly melted and replenished by the cycles of Midwestern winter. I’ll miss the idea that I’m someone with potential and that after this comes something better. As last year came to a close, I sat on John’s couch with his friends eagerly anticipating the future.