apricot milk

. . . like apples of gold in pictures of silver — memory, etc.

the train is going by slowly and i’m

the train is going by slowly and i’m waiting for it to stop rattling so i can go to bed. there aren’t many new things happening right now, i’m just maintaining this steady go to sleep get work done (sort of) momentum and thus why no writing. maybe i will write again soon, for real, but there’s nothing new. no boy, although we talk on the phone about small things. and there was a date with someone else a couple of weeks ago, it just wasn’t much other than how good the peanut sauce at the restaurant was. we may have talked about destinies in astrology and the writing process, but the merely friendly connection was short-lived. i have one month to go before graduating and i’ve been truly conflicted about my plans after that point. but for now it’s just get through it and everything (like hopes and dreams of creating things) might work out. and thanks to a good essay, i’ve been thinking quite a bit about whiteness, and about culture, and about creative space and autobiography as self transforming but those thoughts are for another night; eyes are too much on the edge of sleep. see you soon.


running or something.

lately, i’ve been trying to go on more evening runs. i bought black and pink nikes that fit just snugly, and i always wear the same striped top and blue shorts. although i sometimes i feel my skin is reflective enough when passing car headlights shine on my legs. mostly, i prefer to be alone with the wind and nothing but roughly 30 minute route on my mind. there’s nothing else but the road in front of me–is that a cat? there’s those people with their dogs again. i like it because hardly anyone is out. usually the train rumbles, and i can spy a small airplane against the purple sky.

i guess the reason i started running is because i want to feel better. maybe just better about the things i can do–if i can add this one thing into my life that makes me get up and move, than that will be an accomplishment. it’s great to get in shape and become a little stronger, but i guess the other reason, the biggest one is for my mental health. i mean, running won’t permanently solve anything, but it makes me feel this good collapsing kind of soreness afterward. and you can get into this kind of rhythm. my cousin taught me that sprinting is not what you do, but act like you’re almost walk-bouncing. and you can go and go without stopping–listen to your body and its balances. it forces you to know your self, the way you move and what hurts. then when you get home, you can breathe, drink a giant glass of water, strip the grossness from your skin into a softer t-shirt. maybe sleep more deeply, which i have always struggled with in life.

i would only recommend it to someone if they think it might make them happy. sometimes i look at the hot girls running in the sunshine with their goldybrown tans and i’m just–that’s not me. i’m a nearly transparent creature of the night. that could be you and there’s nothing wrong with being that. my cousins who did cross-country until their legs became a stress-fractured mess used to tell me “your life could have been so different!” if i had just done track in high school when the coach noticed how fast i could sprint. but you know what, i’m alright with my choice. it’s better to make that choice to move when the time is right.

forever losing what little sense of social skills i have while first meeting pretty people with warm hands (it was cold all day, hot tea all gone, hands moving all around in open air).

i might have a weakness for curly hair

(but i know i have a weakness for long hair
tied back, or growing out,
just brushing the back of your neck).