Observation 1: In front of my house each day I see strangers park their car and walk up to retrieve information from our "for rent" sign- we weren't renewing our lease and our landlord put an advertisement up immediately. It was a loud sign with colors like red and white and it taunted me; this house by the end of the summer would not be called "home" anymore. The variety of people who stopped by to take a second glance at our brick house was vast- sometimes it was an older man, probably married and with children at home. Was he happy? Did he support his family and tuck his children in at night? Was his wife still as in love with him as she was on their wedding day? Other times it's a girl my age peering through the windows. I wonder if she felt confident in her dark purple skinny jeans, in her own skin. I wonder if she had a boyfriend, what he might be like, and if they were in love or just lovers. Was she looking into the windows and thinking, "I can make memories here," as I did looking through the exact same windows one year ago? I could only hope, I sighed, as I watched her walk back to her car and drive away.
Observation 2: "In less than a month we'll be on the streets of New York City," Charme and I would say to each other as if to keep the idea from escaping us. Every night where we would find ourselves in some crazy situation on some new drug at some random kids patio, we'd look at each other and just know- together, New York would be chaotic, unpredictable, and unforgettable. Sometimes we'd squeal like girls in excitement- other times we would just smile really silently and very big, eyes mutually wide and anxious. I was anxious for other things, too- a boy that lived up there that I hadn't seen since the first and only night we had ever spent with each other on the streets in the rain till sunrise- it was something out of a movie, each scene captured in my memory and some on a camera I will never see again. I think about it sometimes and it's like conjuring up something forgotten, more like a dream I woke up from than an incident that occurred in real life. Each time I hear from him, my heart drops as its beat rises; no matter how much time passes, it's always the same. There's something there that keeps me on my toes and it lies where I left my heart couch surfing in New York just a few months ago- in Brooklyn.
Observation 3: I miss your stupid expensive bike, your nasally voice, and the dog you hardly took care of (but obviously loved so much). I miss your small bed and the way you would tell me every morning "I'm so lucky to have you" or "you make me so happy," and I'd roll around in your sheets half naked and make my morning noises in response. I miss your tattoos, your secrets, and love for pizza. I remember days and nights blending together with you and how natural that felt. I also remember waking up one day and not knowing what day of the week it was- where had time gone? And then the clock finally started clicking. I don't miss your jealousy, chain smoking, and snoring. I don't miss your clouded ideas of the future, immaturity, and thin hair. I don't miss your irresponsibility, your bad habits, and your stubbornness. But most of all, I don't miss us- I just miss you and the way you can make everyone in a room laugh. I don't like unhappy endings, but in reality, they exist much more often than a "happy ending". In this tale, the story was short. The climax barely rose before it began to crumble back down again, and then like that it was over. And you've made it clear it should stay over, a book once read and left to never be opened again.
