moon & stars

What else should our lives be but a continual series of beginnings, of painful settings out into the unknown, pushing off from the edges of consciousness into the mystery of what we have not yet become.

I want your Monday morning sleep-soaked eyes dream-drenched voice, lazy bones, ‘five more minutes please babe.’ I want your Tuesday afternoon coffee break, glasses off, laughter on ‘just hold me for a while it’s been a hard day.’ I want your Wednesday evening fingers through hair teeth nibbling nails neck craning, eye glazing ‘this paperwork never ends.’ I want your Thursday night drinks for two bones unbind muscles let loose flats, slacks, ‘just me and you.’ I want your finally Friday stretch soul smile, sun sipping light from the glaciers in your eyes fingers unfurl, hand extends ‘c’mon, babe, let’s go wild.’ I want your weekend. Your movie marathon Saturday reading by the fireplace kissing in the blankets. Want your Sunday morning orange juice and pancakes white sheets, tender skin hair like the Fourth of July ‘let’s not get out of bed today.’ I want your ordinary and your stress, rest, release I want your bad day and that terrible night I want you drunk in my arms forgetting the place but never my name I want your lazy and your lonely and your fist full of fight I want you everyday in every way for the rest of my life.

I don’t want to Grow Up. I want to smoke with my friends in backyards lit by candles and play word association games and drink the entire bottle and sleep until noon. I want to go out into the desert to make art and take pictures and laugh and laugh and laugh. I don’t want to Be Mature. I want to kiss my best friend in the back of a car and then apologize to him later. I want to say things like Fuck the Man and Don’t Let Big Brother Get You Down. I want to drink cheap wine and fall asleep cradling my stuffed animals or maybe someone else who doesn’t want to Be Responsible. I want to make tie dye t-shirts and laugh when my hands are stained for a week. I want to keep using my fake ID and flirting with bouncers to get into bars. I want to live with my friends forever and hang pictures of zebras on our walls and forget to take out the trash for a week. I want to take pictures of the sunset every day and roll all my windows down when I drive. I want to let my hair knot itself instead of brushing it. I don’t want to Figure It Out. I want to run away into my mother’s arms when Things Get Hard. I want to pay 4 dollars for a yoga class just to be able to breathe for an hour. I want to tape pictures to my mirror so that when I look at my reflection, I see all the people who made me this. I want This Life. This Moment. Freeze the hourglass halfway. Take the batteries out of the clock. Stop the Earth from turning, please. Just for this moment.

Travel is little beds and cramped bathrooms. It’s old television sets and slow Internet connections. Travel is extraordinary conversations with ordinary people. It’s waiters, gas station attendants, and housekeepers becoming the most interesting people in the world. It’s churches that are compelling enough to enter. It’s McDonald’s being a luxury. It’s the realization that you may have been born in the wrong country. Travel is a smile that leads to a conversation in broken English. It’s the epiphany that pretty girls smile the same way all over the world. Travel is tipping 10% and being embraced for it. Travel is the same white T-shirt again tomorrow. Travel is accented sex after good wine and too many unfiltered cigarettes. Travel is flowing in the back of a bus with giggly strangers. It’s a street full of bearded backpackers looking down at maps. Travel is wishing for one more bite of whatever that just was. It’s the rediscovery of walking somewhere. It’s sharing a bottle of liquor on an overnight train with a new friend. Travel is ‘Maybe I don’t have to do it that way when I get back home.