Saturday, January 31, 2015

The pink frost tinges the windows at dusk and I still wear tights even if my legs grow numb because it makes me feel apart of a Jean-Luc Godard film. And at the end of the day we bury ourselves in blankets and I thank God for the 4 walls, 4 limbs, 2 eyes and I hope I can be good. I still dream of brown, sweat-stained skin and humid nights. I hope you know I think about you daily, especially your fervor.
I know we must be changing because Cat moved out. This must be real because we're making green curry together in her kitchen on Sunday.
We must be changing because Erika and I are slowly beginning our vagabond lifestyle. It must be real because we just spent 4 days in Nashville with shining people and places.
I must be changing because I'm satisfied to stay inside protected by my pen and paper, the vinyl spinning fast and the twinkle lights blurred in the window. I drink my tea looking at the earth and I study the heart-stopping tone of your voice in my head.
It's all happening.
Nelson St. looked great wearing all that snow.

-RAY, jan 9, 2015

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

On Christmas day, no matter what, we still have so much to say to each other even till 1 AM. And at the end of the day, half of my family was dancing in my grandma's tiny living room to Uptown Funk while the other were scattered about the crammed house playing board games. And at 9 PM the leftovers were reheated, everyone loud, boisterous, glowing, in slippers and pajamas. And at 10 PM all of the cousins were braiding each other's hair. And at 12 AM It's A Wonderful Life added to the glow of the night. Somehow at 1 AM I was making hot chocolate for my cousins. By 2 AM even Zeke, the wild one, was curled beside the tree beneath one of grandma's tattered quilts. We were at peace that night.


Wednesday, January 14, 2015

On Christmas Eve our caroling around the piano was more raucous and wild than any other in the midwest region. Most of us were scarcely even paying attention to the pitch, we were just happy enough singing together. The beer bottles mingled with the hot chocolate on the tabletop; the conversations blended together, rowdy and laughing; the old blue-veined hands held the young rosy ones; the gingerbread house collapsed but none of us cared. At 1 AM, gathered around and hushed by the familiarity of A Christmas Story, we felt protected.