jessicalowe
at long last.
the year forgiving
a subtle play on words, and the title of my book.
yet to be completed. patience.
thoughts?
No contrasts - compare?
let this be a moment
Watch the dark clouds bruising
Bellies flushed with water
They swell above your head
Pull your coat around you
Feel the wind cut through
Scraping at your bones
Statued close together
A precious, tender moment
A solemn, somber time
Let this be a moment
That you won’t forget
-adem
Bellies flushed with water
They swell above your head
Pull your coat around you
Feel the wind cut through
Scraping at your bones
Statued close together
A precious, tender moment
A solemn, somber time
Let this be a moment
That you won’t forget
-adem
No contrasts - compare?
scene
For anyone else, it was an unassuming day, the kind that slips through the cracks of time without a second thought. For me, it was the day that would act as both a beginning and an end; a milestone, an anniversary, a landmark. On that day, that late summer day, I opened the door to the rest of my life.
Lost in thoughts, my mind wading in memories, I sit alone on an old wooden bench. My breathing is shallow, as if taking in air was merely an afterthought.
This day is perfect.
My eyes cast upwards, taking in a cerulean sky; witnessing a purity of blue that makes one question clouds, makes one question whether such a thing has ever existed.
Neither he nor I could have predicted what happened next. Looking back, the months that followed seem almost unreal. Manufactured. As if the days themselves were thread; weaving together to form an incredible fabric of memories. I see it as fabric, because during the fallout we weren’t left to pick up the pieces, we were left trying to salvage what hadn’t yet unraveled.
I hear the sounds of Spring around me. I smile. A smile to no one but myself. a smile to assure my mind that there’s no reason to worry. A smile to calm my nerves and quiet my fears. A smile to mask the hurt that still stirs deep inside my heart.
It’s almost Spring. We’ll be entering out third season together.
Lost in thoughts, my mind wading in memories, I sit alone on an old wooden bench. My breathing is shallow, as if taking in air was merely an afterthought.
This day is perfect.
My eyes cast upwards, taking in a cerulean sky; witnessing a purity of blue that makes one question clouds, makes one question whether such a thing has ever existed.
Neither he nor I could have predicted what happened next. Looking back, the months that followed seem almost unreal. Manufactured. As if the days themselves were thread; weaving together to form an incredible fabric of memories. I see it as fabric, because during the fallout we weren’t left to pick up the pieces, we were left trying to salvage what hadn’t yet unraveled.
I hear the sounds of Spring around me. I smile. A smile to no one but myself. a smile to assure my mind that there’s no reason to worry. A smile to calm my nerves and quiet my fears. A smile to mask the hurt that still stirs deep inside my heart.
It’s almost Spring. We’ll be entering out third season together.
chapter
i walked for a few hours this afternoon. i shouldn't have been gone for so long, but the days are getting longer, and even after the sun had set, the moon was bright and the clouds were light in the sky.
it was one of those days where the sky is overcast and grey, and it looks colder than it actually is. not grey enough to be dreary, but grey enough to not have to worry about the sun in your eyes. the wind would come and go, shaking the trees and causing people to walk faster than they normally would, more purposefully.
i took in norman as i walked, silently observing the leaves still on the trees in late january, appreciating the beautiful campus and feeling the hard, dry ground beneath my feet. it hasn't rained here in months, and cracks are beginning to show in the soil, beneath the dead grass of winter. i walked and thought of him, and it made me sad, and it made me angry, but most of all just sad.
it got colder after the sun went down, and the wind seemed to pick up, as if it had been waiting for darkness. i walked with my hands in my pockets, but the pockets aren't lined and i could feel the wind through the fleece. i tried to make a fist, but i could still feel the cold against the backs of my hands, so i walked faster. i couldn't seem to walk fast enough so i started to jog, hoping that the pace would be enough to warm me up. after a few minutes, i felt the heat from my body collect inside my jacket, warm enough to keep me going.
i just wanted to keep going. at that moment, i felt the lightness of air and i thought i could keep running forever. i loved not thinking of anything but the pavement against my feet, it felt wonderful not to think of him. but then i could feel the cold settling in my legs again, and i knew i had to slow down. then i was walking, with my hands in fists deep inside my pockets, feeling the cold through the fleece and thinking of him.
No contrasts - compare?
Dear so-and-so
It was an extraordinary day. Looking back, it seems almost like a dream; the hours passed at a different pace than they do in real life. But I can't quite figure out if the pace was faster or slower; it seems like a blur now, but during, time seemed to stand still.
Days like that don't come around too often, and maybe that's for the best. It gives you something to remember; something to hope for.
Table for one
And so, as another semester comes to an end, I find myself in a reflective mood. The wax and wane of the seasons brought with them a host of new experiences; some incredible, and others incredibly challenging.
As I sit here, trying to unravel my thoughts and feelings, I realize how tangled my web of emotions has become. Sensations pass like waves; the crests and troughs of elation and sadness.
Elaboration seems like a painful undertaking at the moment; it’s best to let time, not words, heal new wounds. The irony, though, is that it’s time (and a lack of words) that is what hurts the most.
No contrasts - compare?
vertigo
I watched the sun set for three hours. My plane departed just as the sun began its slow descent, and as I careened across time zones, I held in my sight the delicate balance between sunset and nightfall. From 30,000 feet, I chased light across the horizon; the soft, orange glow arrested in my eyes.
Life is a journey, and I found a serene comfort in seeing the world spread below me like a map. I love everything about flying; the thrill of vertigo when climbing upwards, the earth tipping up alongside you; mountains and rivers reaching inside you and seizing your heart. I love the feeling of complete isolation; cocooned in clouds high above everything you know.
My eyes took in sights with an intensity known only to desire. I breathed in recycled air like an elixir whose magic would never fade.
As the plane readied itself for descent, I watched the sky release its final breath of day. Darkness had finally taken hold, by the sun’s brilliant acquiescence to the moon.
i sometimes miss a beat
Time is a tightrope, and lately I have been performing a balancing act on the delicate string that is my past, present, and future.
For too long, I’ve carried my past like an albatross, heavy on my shoulders and heavier on my heart. I’ve waded in the shallow waters, fearing I might sink if I go too deep. For too long I’ve been haunted by what has and might have been.
I’ve never been able to live in, and appreciate, the present. And as of late, it’s not my past that keeps me awake at night, it’s my future. No longer can I heed the once sensible notion of living one day at a time. I'm breathlessly tired of living day to day, with my mind chained to the unrelenting hands of the clock.
It’s as if my body is simply lying in wait for what may come, and my mind is fighting to get an edge on what exactly I’m waiting for.
I couldn’t care less what may happen tomorrow, next week, or next year. Ten years from now, that’s what I need to know. And it’s not simply a naive curiosity; it’s almost a primitive, carnal, desire to know where I am going, how I will get there, and what will happen along the way. I need to know whether or not I’m wasting my time. . I need to know if my emotional investments will yield any returns. I need to know if I will ever learn from my past mistakes, or if they will continue to haunt me. I need to know if I will ever stop living in the past, and if I’ll ever catch up to my future.
For too long, I’ve carried my past like an albatross, heavy on my shoulders and heavier on my heart. I’ve waded in the shallow waters, fearing I might sink if I go too deep. For too long I’ve been haunted by what has and might have been.
I’ve never been able to live in, and appreciate, the present. And as of late, it’s not my past that keeps me awake at night, it’s my future. No longer can I heed the once sensible notion of living one day at a time. I'm breathlessly tired of living day to day, with my mind chained to the unrelenting hands of the clock.
It’s as if my body is simply lying in wait for what may come, and my mind is fighting to get an edge on what exactly I’m waiting for.
I couldn’t care less what may happen tomorrow, next week, or next year. Ten years from now, that’s what I need to know. And it’s not simply a naive curiosity; it’s almost a primitive, carnal, desire to know where I am going, how I will get there, and what will happen along the way. I need to know whether or not I’m wasting my time. . I need to know if my emotional investments will yield any returns. I need to know if I will ever learn from my past mistakes, or if they will continue to haunt me. I need to know if I will ever stop living in the past, and if I’ll ever catch up to my future.
No contrasts - compare?
in dreams
i wake up, and light is spilling through the french doors in my bedroom, and though it's not my real bedroom, i am keenly aware that this is my bedroom. I'm sitting up in my king size bed, with my white down-comforter pulled towards me,examining this beautiful room, with it's hardwood floors, flowy white curtains, and the light, airy feel of it all. I know it's my room, I feel as if I have woken up to this beautiful scene a million times before, but something just doesn't feel right.
I can hear voices downstairs, so I slip out of bed and into my robe, and make my way down to the kitchen. I follow the voices, and though i feel as if I have walked this hallway a thousand times before, I still rely on the voices to guide me in the right direction. At the kitchen table are two children, a boy around 6 and a girl around 4, and i instantly know they are my kids. And it's not that it comes as a sudden realization, it's as if I already knew. A tall, handsome man makes his way towards me, hands me a cup of coffee, and kisses me on the cheek. I don't immediatly recognize his face, but there is something about his presence that is undeniably familiar. The way he holds himself, the way he casually lifts each page of the newspaper, the way i know he's stealing glances at me while pretending to read.
I've been walking this room for years, yet i've never stepped foot here before.
I notice his tie hanging over the back of a chair, he notices too and follows me towards it. He bows his head as i slide the tie under his collar, and he holds my gaze as i masterfully produce a perfect half-windsor. I pretend to adjust it long enough to lean in for a kiss.
I can hear voices downstairs, so I slip out of bed and into my robe, and make my way down to the kitchen. I follow the voices, and though i feel as if I have walked this hallway a thousand times before, I still rely on the voices to guide me in the right direction. At the kitchen table are two children, a boy around 6 and a girl around 4, and i instantly know they are my kids. And it's not that it comes as a sudden realization, it's as if I already knew. A tall, handsome man makes his way towards me, hands me a cup of coffee, and kisses me on the cheek. I don't immediatly recognize his face, but there is something about his presence that is undeniably familiar. The way he holds himself, the way he casually lifts each page of the newspaper, the way i know he's stealing glances at me while pretending to read.
I've been walking this room for years, yet i've never stepped foot here before.
I notice his tie hanging over the back of a chair, he notices too and follows me towards it. He bows his head as i slide the tie under his collar, and he holds my gaze as i masterfully produce a perfect half-windsor. I pretend to adjust it long enough to lean in for a kiss.
No contrasts - compare?
Air on the G-String: Part Deux
i'm drinking white wine through a straw.
it's certainly not the proper way to ingest the nectar of the gods, but i hardly think zeus will come down from mt. olympus to show me the error of my ways. he and hera are probably too busy having hot, mythological sex.
oh, i digress.
i love straws. i drink coffee, scalding hot java, through a straw. oral fixation? maybe.
i am tipsy. i should be studying for my 'right-around-the-corner' final exams, but no, i'm writing about plastic straws, mythology, and hot sex.
this post is verging on scandalous, so i think i might change the tone by highlighting my pattern of procrastination during finals week. here is a blog written this time last year, on a warm night in may. ironically, it is also has a slightly seedy breeze blowing through it. enjoy.
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Time: 2 A.M.
Mood: A disheartening blend of apathy and hopelessness.
Location: The Library, an environment peppered with students who actually give a damn. I feel out of place.
It's late. I am listening to classical music, hoping to be inspired. Instead of inspiration, I am wondering whether or not Johann Sebastian Bach was a pervert. "Air on the G-String"? I know it's a musical term, referring to the key in which the violin should be played, but at this hour, it's quite sexual.
My scholarships are on the line. My fate will be decided in less than 6 hours, and what am I doing? Quietly laughing about the title of a classical piece of music. And not jut laughing; I have wasted 15 minutes writing about it.
My shift key is sticking. My mouse is broken. My computer is laden with spyware from all of my frivolous downloads from shady sources. What is the opposite of the Midas Touch? Because instead of gold, everything I touch turns into shit.
It’s now 2:30. Practice tests and study guides are scattered around me. Scattered, ignored, and untouched. My mind is wandering too much to study. Subtle, offhand comments made by others are stirring in my head. My mind is turning over things that someone once said. This practice is what I call “mental erosion”, words pass through my thought process over and over until they begin to wear away; they begin to lose their original meanings. Something that was mentioned so innocently now makes me feel as if I will never be good enough, as if I will never fit the mold, as if they are just settling.
Is the pursuit what everyone seeks? Is everything following the chase an anticlimax?
No contrasts - compare?
left and leaving
the spring semester is coming to an end, with april bowing graciously to may. these few months have been a whirlwind of change; beginnings, endings, fresh starts, stale conclusions.
it's been wonderfully unpleasant and terribly enjoyable, to say the least.
i am looking forward to summer. summer is safe, summer is concrete and predictable. summer is my cocoon, my three months of security and rebuilding.
look for more to come on this entry; it deserves far more than i can dedicate to it right now. i'm going to sleep.
trainspotting
i am out of sync with my own life; it’s as if everything around me is suddenly moving at a different pace than I am. It’s like when you are staring out the window of a moving car, and you can either let your eyes relax and stare out at the scenery, or you can try and focus on a certain point and realize how fast you are moving.
Well, I’ve just realized how fast I’m going, and i fucking love it.
No contrasts - compare?
Jeeves, bring around the car
Oh, the life of luxury, how I will miss thee.
I'll elaborate later, the towncar will be here soon to wisk me from the hotel back to the airport.
And, for the record, I'm pretty sure someone thought that I was a quasi-celebrity yesterday. I ordered P.F. Changs to go, so I had a towncar bring me there and wait while I picked up my food. (I was dressed ingognito-style, with dark sun glasses and all) and when I was walking out of the restaurant back to the car, a group of young girls did a double-take on me, then pointed at the towncar as it drove away.
or maybe i had toilet paper on my shoe, who knows.
No contrasts - compare?
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