phoenix {rising} |
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Dreamed A Highway And I woke up with the backs of my legs fantastically sore and this bizarre sense of panic and serenity coexisting. I am paring my packing way, way, way down. One teeny box of books. One box of Other Stuff. Suitcase. That's it. The packing and the leaving, but the pared-down-ness, the waking up all wrapped in Ken's arms, his incredible gentleness, but the too many people to see whom I will not get to (Michelle, Zeke), the tremendous clutter, but the Gillian Welch on the stereo, the greywhite sky, the tremendous acceptance of right now. What ridiculous kind of story is this? The freestanding kind of life I don't know if I thought I could have. Full of people and things and reaction. External things, in-the-world things. The world in me. You're so nice to me, I told him, and even I could hear the surprise in my voice. And like he was supposed to, he took my face in his hands and kissed me and told me I deserve it and all that sort of thing, but I think what I meant was that I know he means it, that I trust him to be, if not transparent, at least good-faith. If he hurts me, it won't be malice. It won't be contempt. But still, it's funny how undefended I let myself be. I barely even tease him affectionately. I'm appallingly earnest. I'm going to have to put all that away before I go back to Reed College, because no. It's probably healthier to stay present, stay open, stay undefended, but I don't know if I can quite manage that. I'm not quite conveying how totally snailishly vulnerable I am at the moment. I think Reed College might require a shell. Two and a half days, two and a half days, oh God. And then what? |
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