MURICA! **Cue the stereotypical hick-looking guy with a cowboy hat and faded Levis slugging a Budweiser and starting a ‘USA! USA!’ chant at the local bar**
How do you know what will become a memory? A single moment, sitting at the corner seat of a wooden table in the downstairs classroom of library, your papers spread across the desk, handwriting liquid and frantic. How do you know that in six months you will still remember this?
Why is it that we put our faith in things like carnival rides, their seats barely fastened, their metal cages worn as they spin on rickety metal pieces, round and round.
I can hear a bird from outside my window, probably one of those little sparrows, white and brown, tiny little chest
Look me in the eyes again. Tell me anything, the summer breeze blowing through those white blinds, the sausage and onion pizza you had for dinner last night, that you’re scared of spiders.
We all have this strange attraction to people who don’t love us.
I love the moments just before sleep, when your body relaxes and your muscles let go, exhaling a long sigh.
There are things I want to say, words behind the bumps and ridges of my tongue.
This is one of the moments I wish to capture in words: when the music fills your soul, when the tips of your ears tingle with the sounds and suddenly you realize that despite all the evil around you, the world is so beautiful.
Today I forgot my headphones when I went to the gym, which would have been catastrophic any other day, but for some reason, today was different. I chose one of the treadmills facing the pool, and as my feet set into rhythm, I watched the young swimmers dive in one by one.