musing: a few polaroids from the week (too lazy to capitalize)

"she's leaving home"
the door slowly melted open, and a few dry leaves blew inside. they always reminded her of the crispy feathers of the world's largest and most lush bird, the sky. her skirt tickled and teased her thin knees. two steps to the doorway, and crunch went the leaves. she turned behind once more, felt the wind whispering into her ears, smelled a familiar dinner being prepared in the kitchen. she closed her eyes, breathed in the wind, and the meal. like the door, she slowly parted her eyelashes. one more shaky step. leaving a sigh and a tear, the little girl twisted the doorknob, and woke up, her wide eyes reflecting the deep blue breast of her favorite bird. and then she was swept away under its windy wings.

"i don't know if you've ever fallen in love," she whispered. "i don't want to not know you, and i'm afraid that's going to happen when you leave."

"it won't, i promise. i just have to go. it's time."

used cars and preachers
the four of us were out to dinner at our favorite seafood place, chewing away at our calamari, talking about church. "how much does a pastor make a year?" i asked.

"well, it depends," said my aunt.

"sometimes," cooed my mother, "they live in mansions, like certain televangelists. i don't know how i feel about that."

my grandmother cut in. "i once knew a boy from west virginia who wanted to go to seminary school and be just like his daddy, but then he found out that preachers don't make a lot of money. so, he decided to go into selling used cars instead."

"well," i said, "either way, you're selling something that's not worth buying into."

the three methodist hens looked at me and shook their heads before continuing to peck away at their breaded squid parts. some things, i guess, will always be taboo.

"he doesn't look a thing like jesus"
"it's a handicap," she said. "that's what people don't tell you about it."

i looked to my friend as i was driving down the dark and damp road, and then to the rearview mirror. some asshole wouldn't turn off their brights. "yeah," i said, "people say you can fall in love, and it's great, but they don't say that it's hard to fall out of. it's not like some kind of light switch." as i said that, i looked in the rearview once more and shook my head. "i'm so sorry," i said. "but, you know, you learn about yourself. that's what's important."

she nodded, wiped her eyes, and turned up the song, as if those vibrations could fill the hollow space between our ribs and lungs.

and then i thought about it. sometimes to find your way out of it, you need to be an asshole. falling out of love and learning to, well, just stop, is as difficult as navigating yourself safely down a dark and winding road in the middle of the night. it's hard, and sometimes you have to make your own light in order to find it. and yeah, that may mean pissing off the retinas of a few passersby. but, you know, so be it.

maybe i should be more understanding of halogen bulbs.