Sixteen years old, living out our halcyon days. The sun is still out at midnight and we’re rapping in the dark to songs that came out when we were six. Vodka might have dampened our edges and the people we’ve been thinking about may not love us like we love them but we’re young and funny and so inherently good, and its going to be okay because it has to be okay. Maybe this is happiness. Maybe we’re just confused.
i used to think
we were just like lorelai and rory; complementary angles
not without our overlaps
but joined together to create all that we are.
as i grew older i’ve come to realize
that we’re more like emily and lorelai; parallel lines
going through life together
but on separate paths
always close but never close enough.
that’s not to say one is better than the other
because all in all a mother’s love for her daughters is still there
because i think at some point all of our lorelais become emilys
because there is nothing simply stated about a relationship like this (like ours)
(cc, 2019)
“I don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision.”
— Allen Ginsberg, The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice
“But of course I didn’t see this crucial moment then for what it was; I suppose we never do.”
— The Secret History / Donna Tartt
