Lyndsi Shae is angstin for boys.
Nope, men.
That does not mean: that if I used to kiss you in the woods, you should passive-aggressively want me through text messages. Instead: MAN UP, and then, realize that it's not happening. I left.
However, if this does not apply to you, applaud yourself, and come snuggle.
Nope, men.
That does not mean: that if I used to kiss you in the woods, you should passive-aggressively want me through text messages. Instead: MAN UP, and then, realize that it's not happening. I left.
However, if this does not apply to you, applaud yourself, and come snuggle.
* * *
I got back to Provo yesterday and fell into bed.
Finally, I was sleeping on purpose.
But since I've come back -- something is not right.
Am I awake yet?
What is this feeling?
So I take some untied ends and try to resolve them:
I make friends my the new girl in this house.
I take a shower. I look up my textbooks. I glue some pages into my journ... but I still feel very ____.
(unfinished.)
I finally send letters back to the missionaries.
I unpack my suitcase and clean out my bookshelf.
I go to the bookstore. I read I write I drink hot chocolate.
Still, _____.
I make lists of what I did last year.
Worked 3 jobs.
Kissed 5 boys.
Finished 6 journals.
Nope, not helping.
I try to convince myself that a new semester feels right. That I am ready for some type of beginning-- but I'm not.
Somewhere, there is a piece missing.
Parts of Fall Semester float around unfinished.
The faucet drips in the background. I am not at peace.
Finally, I was sleeping on purpose.
But since I've come back -- something is not right.
Am I awake yet?
What is this feeling?
So I take some untied ends and try to resolve them:
I make friends my the new girl in this house.
I take a shower. I look up my textbooks. I glue some pages into my journ... but I still feel very ____.
(unfinished.)
I finally send letters back to the missionaries.
I unpack my suitcase and clean out my bookshelf.
I go to the bookstore. I read I write I drink hot chocolate.
Still, _____.
I make lists of what I did last year.
Worked 3 jobs.
Kissed 5 boys.
Finished 6 journals.
Nope, not helping.
I try to convince myself that a new semester feels right. That I am ready for some type of beginning-- but I'm not.
Somewhere, there is a piece missing.
Parts of Fall Semester float around unfinished.
The faucet drips in the background. I am not at peace.
* * *
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
e. e. cummings
* * *
* * *
No comments:
Post a Comment