strawberry ice pops taste better when consumed with only your tongue. & have you ever tried to dry your long hair after swimming and emerging a mess of tangles by holding it straight out the window as you drive fifty miles per hour down wide country roads? the result is pure summer waves and streaks of sunlight worthy of a cosmo cover.
because summer days are quilts of such things, and the evenings are perfect for running, chasing the setting sun, determined to make it back home before all the light is gone.
i have to hold on to these days, even the parts that are spent alone, sunbathing on my roof reading the writing well: the art of nonfiction or driving & singing along to counting crows live and noticing that they change the words in mr. jones just a little, and realizing that you like them better this way. because it's how you feel isn't it, when everybody loves me, well i hope i'll never be lonely . because it's not a guarentee, just like this perfection i seek, it has to be continually out of reach, because i already know if i could get there i would have grown tired of the chase, i already know that i would come to realize that perfection was never what i wanted in the first place.
i just need goals, like running the chicago marathon someday, or simple things, like memorizing how to play jewel's foolish games on the piano before september comes my way, even though i haven't touched a key in a year or two. sometimes i need a lofty finishing line in order to motivate the first step or skip or leap depending on the day or choosen feat.
for some time now i've understood that i can't seem to fall in love with boy who is good for me, but lately i am beginning to think that i've grown bored of these fantasies that are created from delusions of love soaked in tradegy and boys too dilluted to see that i am what they need. love is losing its sting, because it has been so long since i've fallen, and i've floated off the edge of yesterday's precipices so many times that i have even lost the ability to provoke nostalgic butterflies. the drama summer was two years ago and i think i'm finally accepting that there is one boy i'll never really get to call my own. but that's okay. it's much more poetic that way.