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Nights

March 11, 2014

Something about Los Angeles nights and the distance from the city at any given point. Something about the way the lights look in the distance that makes you feel more alone. Something about the silence and the absence of street noise that makes you forget. Something about sleeping on the left side of the bed makes you remember. Something about the empty space to stretch your right leg and the stagnant air. Something about the heat of the sun and the chill of the night that makes it feel colder. Something like feeling sick and having to take care of yourself. Something like the way your bedroom smelled when you got home from school. Something about the way english muffins used to taste when you’d spread butter on them and watch it melt into all the little holes before you thought of them as calories. Something like getting your feet rubbed by someone who isn’t rushing to stop. Something about the first time you saw a shooting star…somewhere like Sara’s roof. Something about the boy you wanted to kiss on the Ferris Wheel, but he got to the carnival too late and instead talked about his dick all night.

Something like the disappointment you feel when you realize that life isn’t about falling in love and letting go of every other feeling but falling in love with all of those other feelings. And then something like the feeling that comes after that. Like a shooting star across a skyline, or a bubble bath over the city. Or a bottle of wine and a cheese plate. Something like perfection in this imperfect world of confusing people and crazy ideas and making things happen. Something like happiness, just less butter in the holes. Something like the time you stayed out all night. Nothing like the fear of losing. Nothing like the time you ran into the hallway and cried your first selfless tears. Everything like yelling “I love you” in an argument while staring at the Tylenol bottle in the open corner cabinet. Something like Bailey’s on ice cream on New Year’s Eve. A little bit like seven people in a hot tub in the snow. A lot like seventeen people in a hot tub in the snow. Something like friend love. Something like a city from a plane at night.

Something like the guy on 10th Avenue who remembers you like everything bagels. Something like that time you went to the World Trade Center to pick up Broadway tickets and then the play sucked. Something like the African cafe on Avenue A where you ate eggs a hundred times but always thought about him. Sometimes, just waking up with the windows open. A little bit like standing with the smokers on the fire escape and flicking cigarettes across 5th street. Just like the smell of wings and beer and walking around in flip flops in the evenings on Sundays and getting pasta. Absolutely, always, perfectly like Sundays.

Like the big, plastic softball we’d hit over the carport with the skinny yellow bat. Like the tire swing hanging from the tree with the carpet around it so we wouldn’t get scratched, just maybe rug-burned. Like the times before they all got sick and there was all the laughing. Like an open-mouthed laugh that goes on and on.

Just like being in love with the world again, but watching it from the perch above the city, the other city.Image

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. crazyguyinthailand permalink
    March 11, 2014 2:13 AM

    Yeah Rooftops 🙂

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