#small town

under construction #faith

you caught me crying in the chapel ⊹ ࣪ ˖

oh to live a slow country life

Going away at the end of the week, seeing my best friend. So stressed still about final essays and doctors appointments and birthday presents. Did I ever mention I am a terrible gift-giver? I'm really insecure about it. Anyway, this week has been hot but bearable, and I have seen my friends drunk on the street at night and held back every single thing I wanted to say about L, of whom I dream each night. Every single night. When I wake up, I think of him. I think I made him up inside my head. My friends back home send me footage of the storm tearing up their gardens, while the delta remains unmoved. Home in 2 weeks, staying nearly a month. All for L, who doesn't even think of me, who doesn't even care if I kiss him or not. It's pathetic. I wont know the truth until I see him again. Until then, I am having a very insidious love affair with idealism, and I am dreaming of him showing up unannounced and giving me that smile of his. God. Meanwhile I'm looking at the tempest through the phone screen, editing and editing and editing my essay on wordsworth. Contemplating the politics of submission, which is the underlying theme of everything I write. Confrontation summer. Praying for something good. Love, C.