Dark-Eyed Cajun Woman
So, it was tonight, and then it was this morning, but it counts as night still, and that's when it started anyways, so it was tonight, and Alan and I were considering the implications of studying outside. It was dark and the perfect temperature and there was a slight breeze, and it was perfect, like the weather should be in New England, and like it is on a lot of nights before summer comes, and on a few nights during the summer. We appreciate the air conditioner. But it was beautiful outside, and I shared some advice with Alan about his life, and I reminisced about mine, and it was connected, and I feel we communicated. I rarely feel that I've communicated something to someone. But he begins to understand me, you see? And it frightens me.
Then Meghan joined us and we had to stop talking about things that were sort of personal, or rather I did because I can't trust her, and he did because I did or because he can't trust her—I can't tell. Brennan joined us after a while. At one point I had stood up, and work was finished by this point—we stopped right around when Meg joined us because that's right around when the water joined us, a few minutes departed from its heavenly source. We sort of stacked things with the waterproof stuff on top and the papers on the bottom. Then the rain stopped, and Brennan came down, and at one point I was compelled to take a little walk, just because the night was so fine and I felt abrupt.
So walking, walking. Walking in the weather, and the weather brought back memories, because even though the campus smells different, spring smells the same way out west here as it does back east next to the ocean, except there's no beach. The girls still wear their bathing apparel in public, but that's another story. The weather brought back memories like I didn't believe; the weather recalled last spring when the weather was the same and we hadn't been in our house for too long, but we were there nonetheless, and I have memories from that time that I wish I could forget, because either they were pain themselves or the wishfulness I have now to return to those "better days" overwhelms me. It's mostly the latter—nay, entirely. What gives? I can't stand it.
I know I brag on occasion of the control I have over myself, but apparently that's not the case, because my surroundings still prompt memories that override what systems I have in place to keep my sanity at hand at all times. It makes it hard to concentrate, you know? When you miss her not only because you don't get to see her, but also because you don't get to talk to her, and when you do it's brief, and you wish that trust was there again, but it just seems gone because the schedules don't match up and it's just a mess? Well, I hope so, because then you have a slight understanding. Trust is what it's all about.
Trust is that amazing feeling you get when you want so much for someone to know you, so much that you'll tell them anything they want to know, and if they don't know what they want to know, you can just browse reality for a little bit, and your reactions will tell them things about you. The other feeling of trust is when you feel so loved because someone trusts you with pieces of information that no one else may know. The second one is the best of the two, but it's infinitely better to have a mutual trust between you and your counterpart. I've only ever felt safe with two people, and only one of them ever trusted me. It's the most amazing feeling. I could never betray anyone because I fear the loss of this entity that comprises a large portion of my social happiness.
But who cares? I guess it doesn't matter, because they're all off playing with those hippity-hop bojangles and kissing their girlfriends and writing their papers and life has a purpose, but not really. Life has no real purpose for them, but they don't mind, and I envy their apathy. Their apathy means they can do these things, and I really don't mind that my roommate makes out with his girlfriend from the floor below while I'm in the room except that I have no one that I can even trust right now because there's not enough communication with the people that I do trust. I mean, it's nice that the trust is there, but there's grass growing on the tracks because the train hasn't passed by in so long. Maybe summer will start the game again; maybe come summer, I'll be alive again.
Then Meghan joined us and we had to stop talking about things that were sort of personal, or rather I did because I can't trust her, and he did because I did or because he can't trust her—I can't tell. Brennan joined us after a while. At one point I had stood up, and work was finished by this point—we stopped right around when Meg joined us because that's right around when the water joined us, a few minutes departed from its heavenly source. We sort of stacked things with the waterproof stuff on top and the papers on the bottom. Then the rain stopped, and Brennan came down, and at one point I was compelled to take a little walk, just because the night was so fine and I felt abrupt.
So walking, walking. Walking in the weather, and the weather brought back memories, because even though the campus smells different, spring smells the same way out west here as it does back east next to the ocean, except there's no beach. The girls still wear their bathing apparel in public, but that's another story. The weather brought back memories like I didn't believe; the weather recalled last spring when the weather was the same and we hadn't been in our house for too long, but we were there nonetheless, and I have memories from that time that I wish I could forget, because either they were pain themselves or the wishfulness I have now to return to those "better days" overwhelms me. It's mostly the latter—nay, entirely. What gives? I can't stand it.
I know I brag on occasion of the control I have over myself, but apparently that's not the case, because my surroundings still prompt memories that override what systems I have in place to keep my sanity at hand at all times. It makes it hard to concentrate, you know? When you miss her not only because you don't get to see her, but also because you don't get to talk to her, and when you do it's brief, and you wish that trust was there again, but it just seems gone because the schedules don't match up and it's just a mess? Well, I hope so, because then you have a slight understanding. Trust is what it's all about.
Trust is that amazing feeling you get when you want so much for someone to know you, so much that you'll tell them anything they want to know, and if they don't know what they want to know, you can just browse reality for a little bit, and your reactions will tell them things about you. The other feeling of trust is when you feel so loved because someone trusts you with pieces of information that no one else may know. The second one is the best of the two, but it's infinitely better to have a mutual trust between you and your counterpart. I've only ever felt safe with two people, and only one of them ever trusted me. It's the most amazing feeling. I could never betray anyone because I fear the loss of this entity that comprises a large portion of my social happiness.
But who cares? I guess it doesn't matter, because they're all off playing with those hippity-hop bojangles and kissing their girlfriends and writing their papers and life has a purpose, but not really. Life has no real purpose for them, but they don't mind, and I envy their apathy. Their apathy means they can do these things, and I really don't mind that my roommate makes out with his girlfriend from the floor below while I'm in the room except that I have no one that I can even trust right now because there's not enough communication with the people that I do trust. I mean, it's nice that the trust is there, but there's grass growing on the tracks because the train hasn't passed by in so long. Maybe summer will start the game again; maybe come summer, I'll be alive again.
posted by Andrew Hills at 3:16 AM
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