I sit here again to watch the old trees bloom pink against the gray sky
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
We talked and walked down the sidewalks, you holding some kind of government report that you got from the library for free; and it amazed me how it'd been redacted (even if for only a couple of years), and, even as many times as I said, to anyone who would listen, that you had 'secret government documents,' I hung onto every word you said.
I guess I was pretending I was ten again, and that you and I had some kind of little secret, a strange little piece of the world to ourselves (and to the geophysics major, my RA, who we showed the report to and blabbed on about wells and drills and geography and geology).
I like to remember that much more than the last time I really talked to you, when you drunk-texted me in the middle of the night and said that you were in love with me.
I guess I couldn't have been ten forever.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
I know that's not my report about wells and geology, but also. WELLS. V cute!
"I've got dreams like you--no really!--just much less, touchy-feeley. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny on an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone surrounded by enormous piles of money." -Flynn Rider, Tangled
@Ventomology Iiiii honestly can't remember too well what the report was about, but it was def geology and we were def absolute nerds about it. xD
Also apologies for borrowing from your poem a bit. <.< >.>
XI. The Bathroom
It is two in the morning; the day started with blood (and, with my luck, it will end with blood).
And I'm too asleep and too awake to stop it from dripping down my chin and onto my shirt, no matter how much I cup my hands over my nose.
And my suitemate has to call the staff yet again; this isn't even the first time he's seen me lying on the floor (the carpet makes me a little less dizzy, and sometimes I can pretend I'm sinking through it to somewhere that doesn't smell like blood or vomit).
And the staff has to see me staring at the floor, spraying clorox at the stains, wiping blood off my foot, and tiredly answering the thousand tired questions that she has to throw at me.
And I have to read the email at eight in the morning, asking me if I'm doing well after the incident that I'd almost let slip away like the bad dream that came before it (and this hasn't been the first message, and I don't think it will be the last).
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
I love your theme - this is like getting an incredibly personal campus tour. (It's really interesting thinking about how all the places we see every day relate to our lives, and how we form associations with locations!)
"The fact is, I don't know where my ideas come from. Nor does any writer. The only real answer is to drink way too much coffee and buy yourself a desk that doesn't collapse when you beat your head against it." --Douglas Adams
@Cadi, thanks! That's pretty much what I was aiming for - the impressions I have about my university, and how it affected my mindset.
XII. The IM Fields (senryu)
I kicked the kickball three times, and they went and caught every single shot.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
My right ear's been ringing off and on all day (like the phone call I'm afraid to get from an old friend), and I'm waiting for one of the fireworks - boom, crash, rumble, thunder, smash - to finally blow it out.
And my eyes have been red and teary all day (few things scare me like the idea I won't be able to see my new friends), and I'm waiting for one of the fireworks - yellow, white, red, green, blue - to finally shut them down.
But, if I shut the door behind me, and let my eyes and my ears rest, I'd be left at the mercy of my mind, a mind that would wrap an iron curtain around me, flash the faces of my enemies - failures, frustrations, fears, sorrows, abuses - and hide me from the friends siting on the couch and watching the light show.
Paris is well worth a mass.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
It is ten in the night, and I can't walk in a straight line. My head is swimming, my thoughts are drowning in fog, and my vision is blurry.
I need somewhere to go where I can close the door behind me, feel the smooth ivory against my fingertips, and lose myself for a while.
I need somewhere to go where people won't ask me about my day or my plans for tomorrow or if I'm still sick.
I need somewhere private, a place to settle into my own little world, a place to bury myself in my music, a place where no one will look or listen.
And, for now, I have one.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
It's a little vain, but sometimes I like to think that the bench under the trees was made for me - I've never seen anyone else sit there.
When I'm heading back from the supermarket, bottle of soap in hand, it's a nice place to sit; there's pinecones littering the ground, ravens pecking at scraps and fluttering around in the bushes surrounding trees old enough to cast a shadow over this little grove, but not old enough to turn white and gnarled in the winter.
Sometimes it's hard to remember that there even was a parking lot at all, until I can finally breathe again, until I can finally pull myself off the bench and head back home (though I'd rather sacrifice myself to myself in the branches of those trees, I have work to do).
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
How many times have you walked down this path - heart stuck in your throat, feet tripping over each other and stamping up the stairs, lungs pausing for some quick breaths, brain wondering what monster paces back and forth behind the glass on the other side of the door?
And how many times have you jumped down the stairs - fists raised, heart settled back in your chest and beating in tune with your confident feet, brain having survived another day of listening to the monster that was yourself, pacing back and forth behind the glass on the other side of the door?
Let your relief carry you home in the night, drowning out the sounds of the coyotes and wolves and wrapping you in the glory of being alive - amen.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
The moon won't wait any longer; it's poking out above the red rocks, waving goodbye to the sun that's falling into the arms of purple mountains.
But, in that moment in time when the sun and moon stand on opposite ends of the sky, when there's snow on the ground and lightning on the horizon, when brown and white trees mix with the green grass, when the cold winds greets the hot spring air, and when I'm going to a physics lecture I actually want to see, it feels like the whole world is coming together in a giant, contradictory mess (hopefully not to crush me, but it never liked me much anyways).
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
I swear I can almost see you under the table behind the window sandwiched by yellow bricks, resting on your back (those were the worst stomach cramps of our life) and staring at the paper in your hands and wondering how you didn't do worse on that calc exam.
And part of me wants to find a way to climb up to the windowsill, feel back the glass, and yell at you that all that time and all that patience and all that effort was worth it, and that you are worth it, and that you're finally going to figure out who you are.
Except I don't know who I am (not entirely), I don't know if I'm worth it, I don't know if all that time and all that patience and all that effort was worth it.
I have to keep hoping and I have to keep searching and I have to keep trying; but for the pavement three stories below (and that sounds too much like physics), I don't have any other choice.
Last edited by TheSilverFox on Sat Apr 20, 2019 5:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
You're standing in the corner again - book in hand (good to see some of your favorite poems made it, even if yours didn't), desperately refreshing the same page on your phone to find out if you failed the physics exam, passing the time ignoring your rumbling stomach and picking up snippets of names and voices as young and new writers and poets and artists celebrate.
You're the bleeding heart you stand next to - small, old, ignored, there to take some food, eat by the parking lot, and head back to your cramped home.
But, even though you can barely move your arms sometimes, you'll try again, and that's a lot more than you can say about a lot of other people.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
How could you have found me playing the piano here when not one other person noticed me at all, spilling my heart to only myself.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
[You swear that you can almost see a man walking across the parking lot in front of Kappa Sigma, barely visible in the faint lamplight from an empty soccer field and the blue and green glows from a frat that, for once, isn't having a party.]
[And then you realize there actually is a man walking across the parking lot in front of Kappa Sigma.]
[This does not fill you with determination.]
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero, senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting. — J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
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