The luxury of the boat will be missed. Dearly. The lapping of water on the hull as you doze in and out of sleep. The lack of melodrama. The inconsistent tides, never knowing when one will be afloat or ashore. A lot has changed but not very much. One lucky one left to the Eurasian fields, if you can call them that, perhaps they are mountain ranges. All I know is nothing; then the underdog came travelling across railroads and tracks. Us three, we are moving in together and of course, we’re scared. So damn scared of the shackles, but we’re doing it because bricks and mortar and commutes are what the Normals do. We have to do it someday to get anywhere.
Reminders of beautiful summer days live on. So much sentiment I want to hurl. I tried and fell over, failed and stood back up. We all have to fail to succeed (wise words Owen). I just feel a little bit disheartened by it all, you know? but when I walk past the brightly lit windows of the library and I see you bent over, concentrating on scraps of paper and faded textbooks, filled with equations, I feel hope stirring and then gushing toward me. You’re putting pen to paper to absorption within the brain so that you can one day board a flight and not have to come back to this lonely town. Now that’s brilliant. He’s putting in the groundwork to escape and I don’t know how that feels, not really.
When middle class girls get angry they cry. Isn’t that right Rosa?
‘How about working class girls?’ you asked,
‘They kick off.’ Don’t you think?
‘How about then, upper class girls?’
‘They don’t get angry... because they don’t have to.’
No body is made better than any body else yet we are all made different. Man is equal but not the same. And it’s what you make of it that matters.