seventeen

late-night quote-hunting
in Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac
for a World Lit Paper.

two

today was just one of those days.
you know the kind, where nothing seems to be going your way
and everything pisses you off
beyond reason.

the sky was salmon today, one single strip, one ragged ribbon of pink grazing the silhouettes of the dark treetops, standing tall under the pressure of the immense sky
hamburger-bunned on each side by extravagent blue

it was one of those days today,
you know the kind, where you seem to skim through out, without really seeing it.
i had to rub my toes through thin cotton socks in the car,
it was that cold; a painful kind of cold that grasped the bone in a claw-grip,
and hurt from the inside out.

i can't fall asleep very easily these days.
thoughts keep clambering for attention, refusing to be sequestered
dripping incessantly and insistently like a leaky faucet.

today was just one of those days.

one

so much pressure

feels so significant

like we're on the brink of possibility

like we could go anywhere from here

like nothing matters, but everything counts, all at once

like even time is waiting for us

so just live in the moment.