Maybe not. Maybe you miss the idea of me.
The Rumblr’s in-house astrologer, Madame Clairevoyant, presents her latest dispatch from the stars:
Virgo: This week is for thoughtfulness, this week is for memory, this week is for finding solid ground to stand on. Even when the wind blows, even when the sun sets, you will have your own good thoughts, you will have your own good friends, you will have your own good heart. You don’t have to hide your truest self. You do not have to doubt your capacity for bright wild joy. Read your old diaries. Remember your old dreams. You can come back to yourself.
Hullooooooo! 1st sem is over! My eye bags are finally breathing easier from all the suffocating inundation that are specimens from cells to organisms to its varying metapopulations. On a daily basis, school days exhaust the life out of me equating to weekends where my brain’s a dud. But channeling our inner geniuses, me and my college bitches created “Friday Cheat Day” to somehow comfort the neurons in all our cranial capacities. We would always have these lot of late-afternoon lunches with all the noise from talking about all the dumb, brilliant stuff of life, of unhinged creative processes and crooked dreams (and so, so many other things black, white and green >:). It might have been a short time for us together but I kind of have this feeling of something before it’s even here—like I’ve known you guys perhaps in another universe and like the accepting that there is only so much that can be said before having to leave. Our last cheat day has been a total epic, a story I’d like to pocket into a photograph. Ghad, I don’t want anyone to leave but then I don’t want to stop anyone from chasing their dreams as well. You guys know who you are. Let’s keep chasing. Have a safe trip . Go. Run
There’s something about cars that makes me feel grown up. I want a motorcycle.
great cover honey, marry me.
Travel v. ‘I would stay and love you, but I have to go’
Cruised off to Olanggo island for an afternoon of sand dimples and migratory seabirds. Also, lees of algaes strewn across footpaths, the shoreline limestone green with lichens and the light hardly fingering the insides of every crevice and every crack, stretching across the grooves of the soft bottom intertidal dealing.
This week has been so many 4 a.m. nights, the morning so close, yet at a standstill with its light lodged in the skirts of the day before. Having a dose of saltwater is exactly just the right med to chill me down. The island was on all warm darkness with the right cold and slight rain. In the shrinking after light, we talked of people we’ve yet to love and places we’ve yet to unravel. Every so often we breathe into familiar quiet, soaking as the tide rose into early evening, the waves in a perpetual return. As the last of the light left our skin, we picked our way back along the contours of rocks to the opposite rim of the coast, and then into a boat, rolling the sails down just a notch, before joining the ebb and flow.
For who we are comes in waves.