Homesickness rolls over you in waves. Past the point where you're starting to find real friends. Past the point where you're starting to share yourself in big, deep breaths and huge chunks. Past the point where you can lean comfortably against someone without being conscious of their newness. Past those points, your desire for home is renewed, recreated. It's not debilitating, just aching. It's something you walk around with, carried in your arms, while your heart grows thick with new loves. What I miss, what's missing from me. When things get hard, I will always find myself returning to nights in that kitchen, leaning against the counter while the smell of soy sauce and nutritional yeast, curry powder, filled the room. The feel of your arms around me, your lips on my cheek. And sharing everything: food, periods, dishes, worries. I will always keep remembering home, everywhere home has been.
In the midst of these strangers, their knees against my back, I glance across the room and I see you and I feel reassured and I feel like you could be family. And if not family, then at least you'll be who I go to when I feel scared. And you know I've never really done this from scratch before and you know this was what I was thinking of that day in the car with Kristy and Lindsey when we talked about strangers.
Because I never really thought that this home feeling lived anywhere else but near my mom and a few blocks away from 405 W. Green.
How do you get lucked with all these people?
How can you love so many people?
What if I explode?
There's power in love too. Talking with Charlie about why all the raves got shut down and we both know that there's danger in massive amounts of people getting together to love each other and feel good; dancing. The drugs are just the excuse given.
Our love for each other is dangerous, we can make too many beautiful things with it.
This is a love letter.
This is a love letter to Urbana, town filled with people filled with ideas filled with so much possibility.
I keep telling stories about home.
All my stories are love letters.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Last night I dreamt we had a reading of a Dr. Bronner's bottle.
I'm not so certain why it works across state lines, how our plans are made and our ideas born with only our voices. How I lay those cards flat and guess at what you've been feeling. We sculpt glitter out of disembodiment.
It was probably reading Francesca Lia Block when I was younger that had a lot to do with it. I glanced at one of her books today, she uses phrases like awe-weaving and soul-unraveling. Her stories are like the kind of dreams we wish we had more. She gives tribute to beauty, poetry and whimsy and this influenced me a lot. Not so much in writing, although probably, but in lifestyle decisions.
I can't grasp the sync of our lives. It feels unlikely. There are these things which I feel semi-singular in (though of course I'm not singular in them, they are common common common, but they are mine). There's the mom part, the baby part, the glitter part, the nice part, the doing-good-and-making-magic-happen-for-other-people part, the plant part, some other parts. How come you get to have those parts too?
Even when I feel frustrated that all her stories take place in LA almost and are almost always heterosexual, I'd still just really like to hang out with her and occupy her world which sounds great.
I don't know which explanation I like more:
The one where we are soulmates
or The one where we are cookies who baked together, so we taste the same.
I just think that we are puzzle pieces from wholly different puzzles who happen to fit together perfectly. Right now you're moss, growing close and comfortable roots. In the future, you'll be the tree, stretching down down down and changing the pavement forever. Right now, I'm a moth, just for a little while, leaving dust everywhere. In the future, I'd like to be a wave.
In her books, all the girl characters are strong and sad at the same time, shook by love and their desire for freedom and beauty. They nearly all wear antique slips. Their friendships with each other are as intense as their romances.
I hope our dedication to make/believe our dreams stays strong.
From our hands, all things are possible.
you said: sometimes i think that telling you i love you isn't enough and doesn't fully express what i mean. i'm going to brainstorm new words.
Wouldn't that be strong, if we created new words just to describe it?
you said: can we do a ritual for our bodies - a reclaiming - while we're on the road?
yesyesyes.
the only thing I ask is that we reclaim our hearts too, which are, after all, a part of our bodies.
It was probably reading Francesca Lia Block when I was younger that had a lot to do with it. I glanced at one of her books today, she uses phrases like awe-weaving and soul-unraveling. Her stories are like the kind of dreams we wish we had more. She gives tribute to beauty, poetry and whimsy and this influenced me a lot. Not so much in writing, although probably, but in lifestyle decisions.
I can't grasp the sync of our lives. It feels unlikely. There are these things which I feel semi-singular in (though of course I'm not singular in them, they are common common common, but they are mine). There's the mom part, the baby part, the glitter part, the nice part, the doing-good-and-making-magic-happen-for-other-people part, the plant part, some other parts. How come you get to have those parts too?
Even when I feel frustrated that all her stories take place in LA almost and are almost always heterosexual, I'd still just really like to hang out with her and occupy her world which sounds great.
I don't know which explanation I like more:
The one where we are soulmates
or The one where we are cookies who baked together, so we taste the same.
I just think that we are puzzle pieces from wholly different puzzles who happen to fit together perfectly. Right now you're moss, growing close and comfortable roots. In the future, you'll be the tree, stretching down down down and changing the pavement forever. Right now, I'm a moth, just for a little while, leaving dust everywhere. In the future, I'd like to be a wave.
In her books, all the girl characters are strong and sad at the same time, shook by love and their desire for freedom and beauty. They nearly all wear antique slips. Their friendships with each other are as intense as their romances.
I hope our dedication to make/believe our dreams stays strong.
From our hands, all things are possible.
you said: sometimes i think that telling you i love you isn't enough and doesn't fully express what i mean. i'm going to brainstorm new words.
Wouldn't that be strong, if we created new words just to describe it?
you said: can we do a ritual for our bodies - a reclaiming - while we're on the road?
yesyesyes.
the only thing I ask is that we reclaim our hearts too, which are, after all, a part of our bodies.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)