To the Boy Who Sat Next to Me,

To the boy who sat next to me today as I waited for my flu shot,

I never asked your name, you never asked mine. I didn't catch your name when the pharmacy assistant called it, and I don't know if you happened to catch mine when she did the same with me. When I think of you, there's no name associated with your face, but I do know that you have big brown eyes and shaggy, dark brown hair.

I also know that you're a sophomore in Pitt's business school and belong to AEπ. You hail from the state of Virginia, but also have some family who live north of Dallas; our little bonding moment over Dallas was fun. We're both flying to Dallas for Thanksgiving on the same day, and you said, "Maybe we're on the same flight!" You recommended that I book the supershuttle instead of taking the 28x; I thanked you for that advice.
You waited almost half an hour for your flu shot.
You are a swell enough person to carry on a conversation with a complete stranger.

Maybe I'll see you around campus. Maybe I'll see you at the airport in November. Maybe I'll never see you again. No matter whether or not I see you again, I'm glad we crossed paths.

Thank you, boy who sat next to me. You made my day just that much brighter.

(k)not

i am not a writer

my thoughts are all in
knots
and i like to pretend
(that writing will untie my stomach)

i am a fake
because i lie to myself
about myself

i am not a singer

i am not an actor

i am not an artist

i am not anything because

i do not know who i am




[i hate when i refer so much to myself it is self-centered arrogant ugly]


i am not a writer

selfish

As I groggily awoke from a nap this afternoon, and the rain hit pitter patter, pitter patter  on my window, my solitary presence on the bed slapped me like a bitter circus monkey with a wet towel. [bam, bam! mockery and bitterness *diddlydeedeedee circus music*] No one lay next to me, no one had been lying next to me to begin with for that matter, my body couldn't tell if it was warm or cold, my neck was sore, and my head still pounded with the intensity it did before I nestled under my blanket over an hour ago. An Advil and a nap of respectable length with only lackluster results... disappointing. But what else could I have expected, really?

*  *  *  *  *

young gentleman, n.

Someone who would fill that empty space with his whole being, not just with his body (I would ask for a boy if I just wanted someone to merely take up physical space). Someone to put his arm around my waist as I drift to sleep. Someone who will have his arm around me still as I stir from my slumber to the comforting tempo of his gentle breathing. Someone with whom I can stay enwrapped as the rain falls pitter patter, pitter patter, so that we'd keep each other warm and content. Someone who would massage my sore neck and kiss my forehead to "help the headache go away."

*  *  *  *  *

The lady thinks I'm still in love with him, I'm sure.
But I'm not.
The lady does not know I have an obsession,
But I'm sure I do.
I'm obsessed with the idea of what happened
(or what did not)
(or what I did)
(or what I did not)
(or what he did not tell me)
(or why he did not tell me)
and it haunts me
and it infiltrates me
and it breaks me down
to the point of I Don't Know Myself I Don't Trust Myself
so I Don't Trust
other people.

circles

"You must love yourself before you can love anyone else."
"You must love yourself before anyone can love you."

I want to
love.
I want to
Love.

I want to love myself because I love someone else and because he loves me.

selfish.

Replay

It's all too familiar, the shades of grey. The staying away from people around me. The "I don't want to eat" because my anxiety eats my hunger. The (self)doubt of all my friendships.

I thought it would be different.



It's not.

scene change

[same character. different setting.]

Good morning, moon.

We have another few hours here, together,

as the chill of the weather

outside the window panes bites

my heart as if it were sitting,

out in the biting wind,

exposed.

It is true, you know, the part

about my heart

being exposed;

I can feel a certain

prick, prick

like a woodpecker

peck, pecking on the organs

inside my ribs.

I guess the bird isn't all that's trapped in a cage.

Nothing has changed, has it, moon?

I am still floundering I am still groping I am still slipping I am still waiting I am all but

still.

[the window may now be a mirror, though it may not be, as the gentle drops of water fall either from a source outside or from a source within the room's four walls]

Your light moves me

lures me

intoxicates me

Your light forces me to confront what I bury during your absence.

You create a lesion in me,

toppling me over the edge of my

mind as it

c r   a c k    s

and I feel

e ve ry

th r e  ad

f r   a  y   i    n g.

Insert stage directions here:

[Dim the lights slowly to black out]

"Tell the ones that need to know, we are headed north."

Music has a funny way of saying things I've been trying to formulate in my head. As I head off to Pittsburgh to begin life as a university student, the Avett Brothers' song "I and Love and You" pops into my head. In fact, the title of this post is a line of lyrics from that very song. The lulling, evocative beauty in the chord strains and vocals in tandem with the compelling lyrics capture the excitement, yet nervousness, of moving away. Of starting a new life. Of finding new people and new places that will be the recipients of your time and energy, tears and laughter, stress and care.

It didn't hit me until today that I was actually leaving.

Tomorrow.

Er... today, technically, since it's now past midnight (I should probably get to sleep).

As I strolled aimlessly around the second story of my house after locking my suitcases (completely packed, at last!), a poem popped into my head. "The Walrus and The Carpenter" is one of Lewis Carroll's most well known pieces, revered by children and adults, alike. I feel that its popularity has something to do with how versatile the story is (similar to the versatility of my favorite story of all time, Peter Pan. But I digress...). The tale of the Walrus and the Carpenter can be a silly children's piece, purely for entertainment. It can also be something much more, though. The poem can be a metaphor for life, and leaving one life to start a new one, and finding that there are lots of bumps and humps and gligglyglumps in this new life that you're trying to set for yourself. It is a warning to not be too naive. It is a reminder to not take things for granted. It is a bundle of many more things I could think of if I weren't so tired.

And so, as I shut down the computer for the night, here is Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and The Carpenter:

The Walrus and The Carpenter

Lewis Carroll

(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.


The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.


The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"


"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.


"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."


The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.


But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.


Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.


"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."


"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.


"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."


"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?


"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"


"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"


"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.


"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

Another Angel in Heaven

As I try to process how fleeting life can be, only a few feeble lyrics dribble out of me. Perhaps, some day, the song will be complete. But for now, there are only scratches on a page.

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

because He took you before you could wake.

I don't understand why I'm still living,

even after you stopped breathing.

How does He decide which ones to take?

They say the best die young.

I'll just keep living the best I can each day.

They say the best die young,

so young.

MDW

daughter, sister, friend, classmate

Be strong, be blessed
8/17/11

We will always remember you, beautiful girl.