wanderlust

these are the reasons (stories) we hold onto, when the world seems to be unravelling at our fingertips

(19 sept 08)

during one of the many many nights when he and i wanted to give up (on school not each other) i said i have a back up plan! that we could run away and join the circus. i could (learn to) walk the tightrope and he could tame the lions. he said he’d rather be a swordsman in old europe, and i said that’s be fine i’ll be a gypsy instead and wander wander wander. and he said, how will we find each other? a gypsy and a swordsman? and i said we’d find a way. he said he’d be my knight in shining armor, sweeping me off my feet and marrying me. marrying me. marrying me? would that be ok? he asked (in the context of the story i assumed). and i sunk into an abyss of sweet happiness at the thought and absolute fear at finding myself happy at the thought, so i laughed it off like it was nothing (it was nothing) and i said, only, and only if, you ride on a beautiful white horse, and find me a dress pretty enough, and summon a colony of fairies to attend the ceremonies so that there are beads of light floating everywhere. so that the air around us is glowing.

then again last night as i was showing him pictures from my trip to New York City - my brother shaking hands with George Washington,  a boy staring at the vast model of the solar system in the Smithosonian Air & Space Museum (& then he pointed out the moons of Jupiter), and then and then and then a lovely picture of the inside of St. Patrick’s Cathedral (which mum and dad visited years ago together) with people’s heads bowed in solemn prayer and blurred figures passing by quietly. and he whispers, let’s get married there someday. and, shocked, i giggle and ask about our previous agreement regarding the white horse and fairies, and he whispers more urgently let’s run away. next weekend sounds perfect. i sigh, look at him, with sadness, knowing we both have a paper due, and exams to finish, a degree to graduate with, medical school to attend, lives to save, to change, to live. and though i’m dying to say, yes let’s goooo, i sigh again, kiss him lightly on the cheek and instead say, yeah let’s go. and get some dinner. i’m starving.

||| you are a mutual friend of: dylan thomas

the med school battle cry:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

||| speechless

is it more sad or absurd
that you hate the beach
& in effect, i want to break
up with you.

i’ve give SO MUCH. & you won’t put up with a bus ride, a ferry boat ride, some sand and salt water just to be with me. is that SO MUCH to ask?

PS
i love the ocean 2nd best to you. this is a horrible, complete, epic fail.

||| pressed flowers

i lifted my stack of (chemistry) books to press half of the dozen roses you gave me Saturday. 6 for the 6 months that have passed.

& as i lifted the books, i found a small square piece of tissue, with a single pressed rose (from that first month) that i had forgotten, perhaps because i was waiting for it to press & be pretty. it’s still tainted the red it was 6 months ago.

funnny how we find things (love) when we’ve forgotten about them, or imagined them long gone.