everything else: august, september
dear internet,
there’s always something to miss: spring’s turn when i was away at a family wedding, or august’s second summer, the days bright and the skies blue after weeks of rain, while i sneezed inside my room, a hundred times a day, and sprinkled turmeric into my honey. there’s a line in a poem i only know from tumblr: i can lose what i want. i want you. the truth is that i haven’t been missing, this summer i have been remarkably, unusually here: playing table-tennis with strangers, taking a boat shaped like a duck across an unfamiliar lake, and sometimes speaking before i think. i knit a vest and bought a lipstick after years. ten years ago i didn’t tell any of my friends how or what i was feeling but i’ve learnt now, and it’s so much worse and so very much better this way. at the archaeological museum on the day that all the galleries were open till midnight, we wandered through the rooms, and in different languages we all said the same thing. last night it sounded like they were having a party on my street but i didn’t get up to close my windows, instead i lay in bed in that half-pleasant liminal state between sleep and wakefulness, listening to drunk strangers shouting i love you, i love you, i love you.
love,
t