Dimly lit restaurant, thinking about pressures and my major and how I'd really rather not worry about things. I needed the strength of the temple today, but it was closed. Why! Claire and I laid on the grass instead, in the dribbling rain drops, giggled and giggled and thought about how tied our hearts are--how we're never breaking up. We looked up and could see nothing, nothing but sponge-painted gray clouds, and the top pricks of evergreen trees.
"I wonder why God made us so small," I muse, enveloped by sheets and sheets of mosaic gray.
They are curved in a way that makes me think I have been swallowed by the whole world, digested and plopped at the core. Turns out it's not hot; turns out it's raining there, in actuality.
"Yeah," she agrees. " I feel big and small, at different times. But I feel big right now."
We know Washington, us two; we know gray skies and clouds and rain; and somehow had neither one laid in the drops ever before.
Claire's green shirt dampens
my freshly shaven legs feel prickly
I looked into her wide brown eyes and found things there I've somehow never looked at, like I was seeing her for the first time, enjoying her easy laugh and expressive hands. If I could describe our relationship in that silence, in that effortlessly falling rain, I would maybe cite giggles and holdings and how we just appreciate and understand each other; maybe I'd talk of how we love the same things and how she excites and inspires me; how we're soul mates of sorts, perhaps I'd say. But I didn't want to crackle the silence that was so full.
Maybe I'll mention, then, how we're both sitting close, in the same silence--writing in our journals. This silence is now filled to tipping point with really beautiful music.
I can't break away to study theory when there's all of what I actually want out of music sitting here, in a dimly lit restaurant, without pretense of a skirt
or shoes that make sound
or flat hair matted by the greatest rainfall I can think of.