I guess life never really makes sense until I've stood back a hundred feet or so and watched myself.
On the beach, taunting the ocean
. Laughter and sand between the toes. Pretending pants pulled up to the knees will make any difference when the waves creep up slow gliding along the surface, all white frothy beautiful - the gasping as it soaks to the waist and then, admittance of defeat
. The sand in your socks, afterwards, I think I like that the best.
The escalators - sunsets over the Charles. That unyielding FAO Schwartz
song on loop, spelling out stupid things with giant blocks. Squished on the T with the BU girls, yes, just like a tin of sad little sardines. Waiting for the green line during rush hour, spending hours leaning against a pillar and the random people who will speak to you about anything just because it really does get to feeling odd when there are hundreds of people all around you and no one, save a couple here and there, so much as look at the others. I love the anonymity of a city, sometimes, mostly because it makes the tiny connections
here and there all the more poignant.
And then, of course, there is the person next to me in all of the photos, all of the memories stored in my head. And there is a great sadness at all of the doubt and the nerves and the inability to settle. The always looking for a way to fix things that will most likely always be broken - things like me.
Perhaps it's time to smash the Mercury..