collegiate diversion

Here is me, getting tipsy off some white wine Dad left in the fridge. My guess is he didn’t like it, he encouraged me to kill the bottle so we could open something more lovely the next night. A nice red, I guess he was thinking.

We’re not really into alcohol, my Dad or I. Never before college was the matter even discussed. But I take his encouragement as some acknowledgement of my maturity.

I’m almost done with the glass. It tastes like acetone, and peaked so horribly. I’m quite a lightweight that way, being moved so easily by the slightest influence.

I really crumbled at your email the other night. The one about reaching out and feeling the pressing need to feel yours or my caress at one fleeting moment. It wasn’t entirely romantic, I don’t even know you that well, it just really got me. Like, wow, someone is thinking about me and me and me and me. I think about you, you, you even when he and they and them are not around.

I hate that I haven’t heard from you in a while, and maybe I got too used to your slight gestures, every day almost since I’ve been away, that I took it for granted. So silly and superfluous, a facebook poke, but I wish I could have one now.

Just to know that you are there, like you said, so we can appreciate one another’s existence.

How I wish to be on some of the highs that you get. But I was so low during those hours that I waited for you in North Andover. What about Boston and the aquarium and you and me and existence?

Perhaps, I misunderstood. I’ve just been so upset lately, you really seemed to understand. You also really seemed compelled to help. Maybe your presence or your touch, or your poke, would have helped.

Miss you. Maybe we say that too often. But I still do.