July 14, 2010

indian summeromance

If you look at something only with one eye, how much of it do you really see? You're missing out on a dimension. If you know what's beautiful and what's ugly and what looks likes a healthy lunch and what looks like yesterday's news, but you're only looking with one eye, do you miss the depth that maybe it could be something else?
How could you ever be sure about anything ever?

I'd been taking the eyes-half-shut approach to the past month or two. And everything indiscriminately. It appears that a world without depth is one I can discern to my advantage. I don't have to see what is there to know what isn't. I can assume that it just isn't.
When you choose to disregard an entire dimension, you find living to be much more flippant and everything happens before you know it. You don't bother trying to learn it, after the fact, so you make a lot of the same mistakes. And a lot of the same successes too, I suppose. Birds do it all the time.
I instead trade depth for instinct. If my instincts are not sharp already, they will be.

I'm on a roof top in the neighborhood and I'm checking my phone every 10 minutes. I don't know why I'm anxious for him to show up. Had I expected better company before I sent out this message on a whim, I probably wouldn't have been wearing a sliced up burnout t-shirt with a black bra peeking out. Grey jeans with black lace inset in rectangular tears. What was I thinking? Sometimes I'm beside myself when I see my own reflection. I don't look like me. I look like someone who has the life of someone I might've been, or someone maybe I used to be. Sometimes it creeps me out.

The sky is particularly peculiar tonight and it reflects a lot I suppose. It's chilly for the first time in a week and I think I might be on to something. I've already embraced my 24th birthday and an awkward haircut, so what's another ominous skyline? It's kind of gorgeous. Give me favorable lighting and I can do anything, one hand tied behind my back. Or one eye shut.

We spend the entire evening perched on a ledge talking about the people we knew when it was relevant to know them. I'm aware that I'm talking in circles and I'm not really saying anything true or meaningful, am I. 60% of communication is all non-verbal anyway. I've already resigned to the fact that I could be potentially coming off as terribly uninteresting. But I guess that's okay. A girl doesn't necessarily have to be interesting to be interesting, does she?

I'm just sitting here next to you, getting ready to be. Interesting, I mean. I'm always getting ready.

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