The days are falling away one by one.


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Love

For lunch today, my Theology groupmates and I went across the street from National Children's Hospital and ate at Burger King. By that time we had realized two things: first, that our immersion was long drawn out, which could have been avoided with a better-organized program and secondly, we had two hours to kill for lunch.

It was a pleasant ( Read more... )

Moon River, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style someday
Oh, dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going I'm going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end--
Waiting 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me

When we say memory is ( Read more... )

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I usually refrain from writing end-of-semester posts, but because my last year in college turned out to be the farthest thing from what I expected it to be (not that I map-out my semesters beforehand, mind you), I think it is worth seeing in black-and-white.

This school year seems to want me to come full circle. I won't say I've changed myself ( Read more... )

And yes, this is a post about school (Oh, why not; we can have some of those sometimes, yes?)

I am a terribly slow worker. Or, to be frank about it without any pretentions, I am a very slow worker by my own standards. This happens all the time when the workload gets hysterical (Of course the workload can get hysterical, what are you, daft?). I wake ( Read more... )

It is now time to forget

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Not everything, not all. But as one goes along, one learns which to keep and which to disregard (or at least keep mad up in the attic).

If my books could talk--if they could stand around me in a halo of brown pages, smelling of wood and dust and old paper--what would they tell me?

I forget.

But to say "talk" would be to assume too much. It would be less words and more touch, less letters than the mere power of presence. They alone would understand me: their pages have contained my ( Read more... )

It is always easy to assume that to hear the unsaid, we must merely listen to the things which are being said. This is untrue, plain and simple.

My fascination with the white space between words began last semester, when I thought of all the things I kept over the years, which I suppose inevitably piled up. I swallowed many spaces whole--whether ( Read more... )

There are so many ways to amuse oneself, but it's always so much better when you're just going through the normal course of things, and the sun peers out of the clouds: imagine, the ground you're stepping on is a gold-brick road, and everything is to your humor.

Boredom may have the power to make you realize all the contours of your being (like ( Read more... )