04 new england sound, or “i miss my friends in connecticut”
song by song | caught in the act of living
it’s funny how one place can hold a piece of your life
that now feels so complete on its own,
but felt so unbearably transitional
at the time.
regular flights back and forth across the country taught me
to never view this place as home
but rather,
a landing pad
for now.
what i wouldn’t give to visit that little nest again—
the one where homing pigeons would come to rest,
after delivering their correspondence all over the world,
they could lie back and sleep.
//
we criticized our little bubble for what it was
as we drank wine on the steps of the fire escape.
we projected fantasies onto the dorm room wall
of where we’d be now,
clambering outside to stand in
a perfect line,
witnessing the sunset color of the sky
both above and below us.
we took refuge in small celebratory occasions like
making it to thursday,
honoring it with a margarita at chili’s,
and making space for our unsavory opinions to let their hair down.
//
there were lonesome moments too—
in practice rooms
and other secrets kept behind closed doors.
but sometimes, those doors held something precious like
friends’ tearful laughter,
or hollowed-out hearts,
even french-braided hair
before graduation.
— misao
in case you missed it:
03 awake in the fire, or “slut! (for self-punishment)”
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