THE TIME: 12:45 AM
THE MUSIC: Light Years Away; Mozella
THE MOMENT: There's sand in my hair. I smell like a fire. I am both.
"There's no poetry between us
said the paper to the pen.
Something's burning in the attic...
that a tongue will not defend."
I have sat in this beach house bunkbed room, green carpet, one dresser, musty pillows, traditionally salty air, so many summers of my life. Last July, I remember, I had three things I wanted to work on during the week I was here. The first was something about being healthier. The second was about reading my scriptures and being more in tune with the spirit.
The third was to find peace about leaving Zach behind when I went to Utah and he went to UT.
I think about that girl. I loved her. I love her still. But I am Not her tonight, or ever again. I remember the girl that decended from a plane into this idea of home on April 26th. I am not her either. I step off the battle grounds soon: I will be a sophomore in college: I will live in my own apartment: I will carry new loads.
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