Things I love:

Simplicity

Complexity

Contradictions

The human heart

My best friend

There are so many things wrong that should be right. God, what a teenage crisis. Senior year, without a boyfriend, without a life, with a dedication to redecorating my room since I can’t redecorate myself. I wrote in my journal six months ago, “I’ve outwitted this fettered life.” I haven’t. Sigh. It’s ok though, because everything revolves around conflict at one time or another.

Jason and Lara and I went to a rodeo today to take pictures. It was pretty fun. You know, small towns, cowboys, horse poop? Haha. Actually, I had a nice time. We stopped at Hastings to buy a few CDs and detoured to the Bartlesville dollar store. And I got a crazy necklace at Goodwill along with an 80’s blouse which Jason said reminds him of “the mom in the movie Better off Dead.” Hmm. I like it at least.

I was thinking about Kyle today. I guess it was just the long drive and the music and the openness of everything. I kept thinking about Quartz. It was such a bizarre, surreal two weeks. One day I was sitting in the amphitheater writing. An hour later Kyle came and sat down next to me. He was upset about something and we didn’t really talk about it, but I let him read a poem I had just written.

So I was lounging in his arms and he asked me what my favorite play was. I said that I didn’t know, and maybe it was cliché, but I really liked A Midsummer’s Night Dream.

“I know you probably don’t remember what scene I’m talking about, but there’s this part where Theseus is talking and he says something about airy nothings and it’s the most beautiful . . .”

I cut him off to quote,

“And as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poets pen turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothings a local habitation and a name.”

He rested his head on mine and said, “ I think I love you.”

I’d like to think we helped to pen each other into some sort of poetry. But tonight I’m feeling very much like an airy nothing. There is a time one must be her own poet, and realize that the ink runs out eventually, but what has been written is permanent.

This applies to Lara too. Though she may waltz into the dawn of her own new brilliant future, she will always be inked with our friendship, and vice versa.

And, I don’t care if it sounds girly or overly whimsical, but I’ll miss sitting with her in the summer, walking to her park late at night and sighing those long reliefs that are always subsequent to emotion. I borrow her clothes and they smell so much like her house, her family, her memories. It may sound weird, I like that. I guess it’s just the familiarity of someone you love.

After we got back from the rodeo Lara was in my room writing in my little black notebook. I didn’t really pay much attention to what she was doing and went to the kitchen to get us some applesauce. About an hour ago I opened up the notebook and read this:

“Want some apple sauce?” she calls from the kitchen. “Sure,” I call back indifferently. “Do you want cinnamon on it?” “Sure.” “I’ll make you my special applesauce,” she says proudly with a culinary affection. I smile to myself and picture her in the company of fruits and spices, mixing and adding to her heart’s content; a new creation being formed. And I know that I’ll miss her applesauce.”

I’m listening to the Magnolia soundtrack right now. Have you seen the movie? I love the way it ends. One of the characters smiles, and that’s it. That’s the end. But there is such closure in her smile that it always makes me happy. Sigh. If she ever comes to visit, I’ll be sure to make her applesauce.