have you ever woken up to a day that feels like your last? not in a morbid way, just in a way that everything feels off, like lingering fog, a brain scrambling movie. you have this feeling, almost a comfortable agreement that this is the last day. and then your brain plays a reel of all of the things you should have done. in slow motion i’m seeing the life i could have had, the places i could have gone
•••
the july sun beats down on us as we lay in the cool grass one weekday afternoon. it’s one of those days the heat doesn’t bother you, everything seems okay. fruit tastes sweeter, the sky looks bluer than it ever has before. i’ve got my favorite sunglasses on and my eyes closed; just absorbing the warmth. i can feel you next to me, your warm skin lightly brushing against mine. there’s a pond nearby and i suggest we cool off for a bit.
i help you up and we run off toward the relief of cool water. i can’t help but enjoy the view that is you. your eyes radiate a sort of energy. i can see a fire that lurks behind them. i can feel it, the warmth. like sunshine, but less harsh. it keeps me sane, but it also flips a switch in my brain that makes me feel like i’ve lost my mind. in a good way, like i am alive, warm, vulnerable, soft. you are simultaneously gentle and chaotic. a campfire with a green tint. we are numb together, we are alive together; as if we were connected by a string. it is knotted or fraying in some spots, from the wear it has endured.
the cold water shocks us as we run into the pond without even thinking. we’re laughing so hard we can hardly breathe, the painful kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt. after a few minutes of pretending we can tolerate the unbearably cold water, we run back to the patch of grass we’d claimed with our picnic baskets and blanket and try to catch our breath. the cold beads of water are dripping off of our goose-bump covered skin and pooling on the blanket. it’s getting late now, and we’ve got plans to crawl into bed early and watch movies and waste away for the rest of the evening.
i can’t help but think of your soft, warm skin on days when i feel numb. days like today, i can feel your end of the string, pulling softly.
cam glassford 