Friday, February 13, 2009

I know it will be alright, but I need you to tell me anyway

And some other random thoughts/very short writings:

Excuse the grammar on this first one, those of you who are better at Spanish than me:

Es un día obscuro; llueve. Las nubes están bajas, y los cielos lloran. Es como yo; mi espíritu está bajo. Pero no es como yo, porque yo quiero llorar, pero no puedo. Los cielos están afortunados.


It is a dark day; it rains. The clouds are low, and the skies weep. It is like me; my spirit is low. But it is not like me, because I want to cry, but I cannot. The skies are lucky.

I don't like people taking pictures of me. If it's an official photo, as in a 'gather-around-and-smile' thing, I don't really care. But informal, unannounced candid shots? I hate them. I am the one who's supposed to be on the edges, watching the world through a camera lense.

I haven't eaten a real meal today. And I probably won't until around 4. Argh. But I am out of food. I'll probably hit Target and Whole Foods, because I need food/materials from both.

I'm running on six hours of sleep. It's not enough.

I'm trying to find a balance of simplicity in my writings - spare and clean, yet not lacking the necessary details.

I'm clearly about to fall asleep. Oy. Hasta luego.

Saturday, February 7, 2009


The bell jangles twice as I walk in, rays of sunset burnishing the wood floor and softening the scuffs on my black Converse. I sidle up to the counter, checking out the menu board, but I know what I want. A couple male baristas chat with each other as they grab cups and whipped cream canisters and syrup bottles. I eye them before checking out the pastry display. Oh. Yum. The chocolate cupcakes call, the gleam on the black icing a subtle siren’s call.

One of the baristas slides an order in a white cup across the counter. He wipes his hands before turning on his heel and striding toward the register. “What can I get for you today?”

I smile and glance at the board, like I don’t know. “Can I get a tall vanilla bean frappuccino?” I’ve been craving one for weeks, but the closest the little faux-café above the cafeteria can come is a grande caramel frappuccino. It’s way too much.

He slides his jaw to the right in a frown and furrows his eyebrows. But the corner of his mouth keeps puckering up, and his blue eyes sparkle like he’s trying moderately hard to hide a smile. He rubs his chin with his right hand. “I don’t know about that.”

I feel unexpectedly delighted. He’s teasing me. I grin and raise an eyebrow. “If you feel like it today?”

He shrugs, the half-smile shifting to the left side of his mouth. “Maybe I will tomorrow.”

I tip my head back and laugh. I love this rare occurrence, when people know I’m not so fragile as to be thrown by instant teasing. Maybe it’s the hair. I parted it to the side, and randomly pulled it into two low pigtails. My big black-rimmed sunglasses are propped behind my ears. It looks kind of artsy. Now that I think about it, that’s how I feel. Fitted brown shirt, bell-bottom jeans and Cons. I went natural on the makeup. No foundation, just blush, some brownish-rose lipstick, and wine-colored eyeshadow, with gold dusted across the top. Maybe I look like that free-spirited person I want to be sometimes.

He laughs too and punches in the order. “One tall vanilla frappuccino. Anything else?”

I pull in my bottom lip and study the pastry case. “I think I’m gonna have to go with a chocolate cupcake. Those look really good.”

He nods, plucking a little paper bag from a container. “Ohhh yeah.”

I tilt my head. “So they are good?”

He slides the back of the case open. “Yeah, they’re great. I think the vanilla ones are better, personally. Everyone else in the store likes the chocolate, but I go for the vanilla.”

I pause and hold my breath as he moves the tongs toward the back chocolate cupcake. “Well…”

He pauses too before raising an eyebrow and flicking the tongs between the chocolate and vanilla cupcakes. “Which one?”

I smile. “Based on that recommendation, I think I’m gonna have to go with the vanilla.”

“Good choice.” He plucks one out, drops it in the bag, and slides it across the counter.

“Thanks.” I hand him my debit card, and he runs it through. Afterward, I step back and sit against a circular table. I crack open the bag with two fingers and extract the cupcake. The icing convinces me to try it now, rather than wait until I’m in the car. Sugar explodes across my tongue.

A minute later, I see the barista slide my drink across the counter. “One vanilla bean frappuccino!”

I swipe it up. “Thanks.”

He smiles. “Good cupcake, huh?”

I smile back. He must have seen me eat that first half. “Very good.” I walk to the car, sit down, and polish off the rest, carefully licking the frosting from the crinkles of the wrapper.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Shattering of the Light

Tonight, a cloud of something, some substance unknown
(for it is not melancholy or grief) hangs over me.
Something is...perhaps not wrong. But
Something is hard, heavy, going wrong.

Someone is hurting.

Earlier, finally I was happy to be alive
as the sun shone and the wind
childishly tugged my hair.
A weight now falls upon me
unspecified, but
the shattering of the light
by the cloud has come.
The light breaks
and the pieces
to the ground
and flicker

How? How can I feel what others do
and yet not know who is hurting
and why?
I can theorize who, I know,
but I cannot guess what it is
that binds my soul to others.
A silent invisible connection, intangible
yet solid and real.
I did not ask for it, I do not know
how or why I feel others -
how for a blink I am

Sleep drags my eyelids down
but something in my soul will not rest.
Not until I know
have established who it is
whose spirit cries for help.

My hope aches but remains.
For light also is shattered
in glorious
when it breaks through the darkness.