Cell Phone Lifespans

We throw around the word "dying" so often these days. I wonder what life would be like if these situations were actual, literal instances of death:

[Beep] My phone is dying. (Do cell phones go to heaven?)
[I'm hungry] I'm dying.
[Laughing] I'm dying!

*Shudder.*

Caffeine Withdrawals

One out of five posts on this blog are about coffee.

I feel like hundreds of tiny, sniveling woodland creatures with tacks on their shoes are trying to Riverdance on my brain.

Sharing Food

In many ways, we share our food as we share our lives. That first meal together, neatly cutting things into halves and swapping gracefully across plates: half my burger for half of yours; my hopes and fears for your greatest insecurities. We traded big, without a second thought.

As we have grown together, we have learned the rhythms of each other's chewing and the exchanges have become smaller, less formal: the unconscious reach of my fork snagging a bite of your macaroni, the natural movement of your hand stealing one of my chips; a story of your mom for a story of my uncle, one embarrassing moment for one proud one. There is no need to cut our meals neatly into halves; the swap has become so seamless I hardly notice the end of the meal sometimes, as it always inevitably stretches into wine, or gum, or cigarettes.

We're framed differently each time, depending on how crowded the place is — the only ones in the entire restaurant, or crammed at a communal table for six; our voices dwindling to whispers exchanged in a corner booth, or roaring to laughter at a table with friends.

Each time I am enchanted by the new flavors and tastes dancing on my tongue, and the way new memories with you sit in my heart for a long while afterward. Despite the delight of it all, our meals are paired perfectly with longing, as I venture to a place of new menus and specials, where I will eventually order a meal too large or too boring for just one person, where the rest of the food will sit by itself, perhaps too rich or too salty or too by itself for its own good. Hmm...

It is a beautiful thing, to be always craving and be always full.

Champagne Supernova

I used to hear this song and feel a swell of longing and pain ride in my stomach and sit, crawling through the depths of me and making me think of how much I missed you.

Now, I am hearing this song for the first time, dreaming of you and I, the world set out before us, a boundless story waiting to be written, our love stretching across rivers and oceans in different directions and meeting in the middle like two estranged birds, departing for seasons and always trusting that they will come home to one another.

This song is kind of stupid, and I don't quite understand it —

but it's nice to hear it for the first time. It's nice to see the world for the first time. Everything looks different, and better. Blessed.

Harrington

I have missed this.
The distant sound of Odwalla lids screwing on bottles,
sitting next to the whispered chatter of
midterm papers and lab reports spinning out of
tired college fingers on
tired Macbook keyboards.
The quiet arrival of 1am,
the feeling of detaching your soul from the screen
for just one moment
only to realize the overwhelming emptiness of
the chairs surrounding you.
Where are you Francisco?
I remember finals week, spring 2012
welcoming the sunset
and greeting the sunrise
all in one sitting
with potato chips and half-open eyes,
smiling warmly, victoriously
at the procrastinated products on the desk before us —
we were warriors, then.
Now, I'm sitting alone,
at one of those tables
too high for comfort
staring into the glassy black of the
window reflections
sleeves still rolled up to my elbows
this hulking lack of productivity
looming in front of me.
This is hard sometimes,
and I am tired,
but boy, have I missed this.