Meet, Greet, Repeat.

A moderate sense of longing has become my parasite. It is devouring its host slowly and with an unforgiving attitude, an overshadowing and an encompassing of all other things; a longing for somewhere to call home finds me and is bent on me. In the last few weeks before leaving my friends and family, I found myself asking the same question a hundred different ways- What is home? Is home a place to find refuge within the arms of loved ones? Is home just walls and wooden beams, a place to stow your things? A place to install yourself and download after a hard day? Somewhere to simply sleep? As I join thousands of freshman in the United States and elsewhere who are moving and creating a new life, my idea of home has begun to slowly evolve and take shape.

After moving in, unpacking, meeting, greeting, connecting, I find myself in an unexpected slump. Perhaps it is all of the forced friendships composed of names and hometowns tossed out into the atmosphere and quickly forgotten. It could be the lack of male interaction on my particular floor in the dorm. Maybe it is all of these things combined with the realization that this semester may indeed kill me, and that I haven’t found my sense of belonging yet; I haven’t found my sense of home.

Time is on my side.

-A

Temporary Leave.

You must be the sweetest thing,
The sweetest thing I’ve ever seen with
Bones of ice and eyes of green.
I could watch you endlessly,
Play guitar and sing to me,
I always am the one to leave.

You and I are metal shards,
Robots who rust in time and chords.
oxygen and atmosphere,
Our eyes are next to go, we fear
All the time that passed us under,
Was enough to make us wonder.

Why we were even here at all.
If we were ever here at all.

We’ll count away with the clocks
Discovering where this plane stops,
And I will clutch the weathered rocks
Until they start to mold and rot.
But triumphantly we will shout
“Give us back our pride and doubt!”

Why were we even here at all?
Were we ever here at all?

-A

Home.

I was driving home tonight when
I passed by your old lake house.
We photographed the lightning skies.
We devoured all the rice.

You dont believe in me, still.
All I was, scroll and quill.

Your mother told me all about
How she almost gave you up.
She cooked us dinner and she
Gave me a budweiser swimsuit.

Yes, it was so odd to me.
To know all about that phase.

All I wanted was to carry you home
Amongst the birds and telephone line.
All I wanted, to make you smile,
You never even let me try.

But you and I, we crept on by.
Along in silent sleep.

I know how strange it must be,
To read me like words from a book.
Obviously wishing to be
Something I can never percieve.

We clap our hands amongst the trees,
I hoped that you would sing to me.


-A

Behhh.

I thought you meant it when you said
You'd like me in your New York bed.
I thought you meant it when you read,
"You're my first love, born and bred."

I cried myself to sleep one night
It was this week, you were out of sight.
I cried myself to sleep tonight,
I couldn't move from cumbersome fright.

Your hands move, your fingers shook,
I knew I loved you with a single look.
You can have me like jems for a crook,
I know you can read me like a book.

I clapped my hands you sang your song,
I laughed beside you all night long.
You always thought that I was strong,
I should have known that I was wrong.

-A

I am?

I am
in love with a hundred different people.
If you could outsource all your daydreams,
You could store them in my database,
Installed at the bar at your workplace,
Download and decompress to my face.

I am
Forced to settle with being lonely,
To accept that I’m a just a postcard,
But I’m content with being at least invited
To draw with your crayons that I’ve cited
To hear your music loudly on my right end.

I am
Driving down the parkway
With the thought that maybe someday
I’ll meet the family that lives at
The house whose street address contains that
Number that corresponds to my birthday.

I am
holding my eyes up to the mirror,
To watch that house pass my car door
I think that family could like me,
If we arranged some kind of meeting,
And I’d tell them about your daydreams.

I am
Concerned that I can’t hope for,
The day that you’ll settle down and
In that wormy brain you’ll realize
Finding love is harder than anything else,
Its not something you read from a book on a shelf.

I am
Sorry that you want me to be
Something that I can’t be,
‘Cause I’m on a hundred year repeat,
I can’t think just like you think,
But I’ll still be here until you stop me.

Pair of Claws.

I saw my mom in a hospital gown,
The news was on tv,
MSNBC,
Talk of making divorces easy.

Some guy who is balding,
advice with a ring on,
Sings his own theme songs,
My father proclaims, “He’s got it all wrong.”

I have installed in the waiting room;
Downloaded myself while
My coffee gets chilled,
A rumbling stomach but I won’t move.

The walls aren’t all washed the snow white of plaster,
I leave for a smoke,
A getaway from the old
Stale recycled air that fills my chest.

Outside the summer rain falls to wind,
Moves the trees slightly,
Ambiguously,
The ting of drops on tables out of sync.

I am not worried,
I am still distracting myself.

Stranger.

Somedays I’m convinced I know exactly who you are. Like truly, like as if I’ve spent real time with you instead of just data messages sent over wires and atmostphere and satellite towers.
I remember meeting you once,
The only time, really, that I’ve seen you face to face.
I was so scared of you, strangely. You were this quiet, smart, attractive guy. And I was a young, boring kid. You were reading “The Moon Is Down” by Steinbeck, Wearing a Death Cab for Cutie jacket. Playing bass guitar for Jesus in your black rimmed glasses. I was drawn to you instantly, almost as a lark.
There is really only one thing I can remember saying to you, and even then it took courage.
“I like your jacket. Death Cab is awesome.”
“Yeah, thanks!” and then back to your book.
I wanted more. I had imagined this sort of intense conversation sprouting just from a compliment. I hoped you’d notice me. I hoped you’d tell yourself about how nice I seemed or something.
But here we are, after many conversations and venting, and you’ve found something of mine to be interested by, invested in, but it is simply what everyone else sees-
My shell, my body.
But that is all. I am just my body. Never a word mentioned about my mind or my soul. Not a question asked or inquiry made. And yet I allow it to happen without a complaint. All I wanted was to be as intelligent or as intellectual as you, to seem compatible mentally,
But really I haven’t had the chance to.

I talked to you this week about how far we’ve come. How if three years ago I was told that I would hold your attraction (even as mundane and as much as I wish it were more than this) for this length of time, I wouldn’t have believed it. I reminded you of how we met and you had one thing to say to me,
“You were perfect even then.”
Something so beautiful, maybe the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. And yet, it means nothing because you’re still such a stranger to me. I still haven’t cracked you. I know you on such a standard basis even after all this time. Maybe that’s for the best.

-A