and the fists are raised

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been dividing my days into silence and chatter. both are nourishing & exhausting. my sweat smells a little bit like the dirty sea i named myself after. low tide, it smells like home.

i’m usually not out at 4am, but last night i was, at eat’n’park with steph, shea & claire. after a really cheesy lesbian dance party, which steph & i enjoy going to because we can be as ridiculous as we want without being embarrassed. steph & i were whirling our shirts over our heads on the dance floor, and she kept yelling, “no shame! no shame!” which was great.

anyhoo, june turned to july while we were out, and i was all, “holy shit, in exactly a month i’m leaving.” i’m taking the 3:50am bus on august first. but sitting there in the diner, sad waitresses rushing pancakes, the world dark, looking forward to nothing besides taking out my contacts and going home to my bed–

i thought, oh no. in a month, at this time, i will be getting on a bus and not getting off for over two days. in a month, there will be no bed. in a month, i will hug everyone i love the most goodbye, and they’ll get in their cars and on their bikes and drive away, and just as we’re hitting the highway in ohio and my ass is really starting to hurt, the very last one of them will be asleep, and i’ll be just getting further and further away….

and this marks the first moment i’ve had any real sadness about leaving. not having good times, not falling in love, not any of those things. & don’t worry, i’m still GOING of course. just a little more heavy-hearted. and my plan of hanging out with my besties until the bar closes and then moving the hang to the greyhound station doesn’t sound like fun anymore. maybe i should just go by myself, sit on my suitcase impatiently until i’m glad to get going again.

 

 

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