If I knew what to call this, it wouldn't be the same.

If this were my third attempt at writing this paragraph, it would definitely say what I wanted to say. There would be no cliches. The unravelling sequence of words would strike a perfect balance between wry humor, thoughtful observation, and the quiet sort of nostalgia that makes you close your eyes and inhale very slowly through your nose, while gently shaking your head. As if to say “Oh… oh my.” while saying nothing at all.

If this were my third attempt at writing this blog post, I would definitely say something important, so as not to waste your time. Regale you with humorous anecdotes from my first month in San Diego, maybe. The slow process of convincing That Cat she’s no longer a feral beast. The pure joy of accidentally stumbling into the Coronado Beach dog park. The ways I've perfected my coffee ground:swamp water ratio. The simple magic of creating something caffeinated I can drink every morning (two dashes cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla extract).

Or something softer. More sentimental. The days I walk to the big box stores two miles away and cry about the dead pigeons in the underpass. Or the ritualistic quality of my afternoons spent purifying water. Relate that somehow to my life/heart/soul/mind/etc. Somewhere this is poetry. I’d tell you about campus with all its white walls and arches. The way the sunset turns everything pink and orange behind the palm trees. The way something can be so pretty it makes my teeth ache.

If I weren’t afraid of sounding trite, I’d describe the awkward stumble stutter dance of new friendships. Taco Tuesdays and too much tequila, and the taste of 2 a.m. Thai. Reaching out to see who reaches back. And again. And again. And again. Exchanging art and secrets, phone numbers and memories in dark bars and hookah lounges. So in two years someone can say Oh my god, remember when… and some of us will, and some of us won’t but we’ll all laugh anyways. So we hope.  

In my weekly writing workshop, the professor says You’ve written the poem. Now write everything you didn’t want to say. This is how you get to the real. There is an electric box on the road that takes me to school. For the last month, it has said Whatever Happens on one side and it has said I Will Always Love You on the other. Two hands floating in waves of blue, purple, green like a sea of galaxy. I took a picture. I never sent it to you, but I hold onto it because it feels true.

Now that box has been painted over with something I haven’t walked past enough times to memorize. If I knew what it looked like, I would tell you. I promise. I’d lose myself in the simple joy of putting words down, one after the other. I’d remove my head from my shoulders. I’d type with my heart. I would not get distracted by mindless scrolling on a handheld screen.

If I were to draw you a pie chart of my average day, it would look like:
2% - Going to school/doing homework

28% - Worrying that I should be putting more effort into school

12.33% - Lying on my floor, wondering if I will ever stop lying on my floor

17% - Cooking on a hot plate

40.67% - Thinking about tacos. Or, trying to keep the cat from scratching the couch.

**These two things are mutually exclusive.

I would draw you an actual pie chart, but I’m currently lying on my floor, and wondering if I will ever stop lying on my floor.

This is all to convey something very important. Something that gets said too often, but still feels good to hear like I love you or I’m thinking about you or

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear,and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

If this were the end, I would always say Talk to you soon instead of Goodbye, and you’d either be grateful for that or not even notice.

All my love.

-b