For N.
(We put a bug catcher on the front porch, hoping to catch flies. We caught a dragonfly. This sort of thing breaks my heart just a little. And it reminded me of you.)
Right now, you might somewhere be over the Atlantic Ocean, Delaware, Georgia, West Virginia. Sitting with your eyes shut in an uncomfortable blue leather seat, your headphones plugged into your iPod, not the in-flight entertainment system. Bob Marley or Bob Dylan playing, I would never have understood the difference without you.
Thank you.
You might be in some emptyempty room, whitewhite walls so unfamiliar (I never saw your bedroom at home). A stack of boxes in the corner, and just like that, your whole existence has been reduced to a pile of cardboard containers and what they hold. Maybe your bedframe has already been set up. Maybe not. I imagine dark wood and I miss you already.
Maybe you are thinking of me and maybe not. I expect the latter, but I would be happy to know it is the former. I would be happy to know that you will miss me. I know you will. You will? Will you remember that night you blasted Russian rap songs and lost your socks? That day we stood thigh deep in the lake and splashed water at each other? The day I put the water bottle down my shirt but you won capture the flag anyway?
Those memories are not just for you and I, but for the others too. I don't know if they will hold onto them as tightly as I do.
We never got to finish Pineapple Express.
You played me my first Jack Johnson song. In 5th grade, you brought in the CD. All I remember is "I can tell that we are gonna be friends".
We are.
I miss you already.
And now I have to go. I hope you are happy in that hot place you are and that you swim and make friends but don't forget me please. You'll be back and I'll be waiting, and I'll hold tight on memories until then.
I love you.
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Again, I can't help but be taken aback at your writing. It's really quite stunning. & this tastes like peaches, this whole piece tastes like peaches. Do you know what I'm talking about? Sometimes writing has tastes & this one tastes like peaches.
That's a good thing, I think.
This is beautiful. I have no way of knowing if it's true or fictional, but I think I prefer it that way. In these short, few paragraphs, you have given a surprising amount of character.
I would love to hear more about this relationship.
...I have no criticism to give. I'm sorry.
I'll work on that.
____________________
-Qwerty
Affluent Students Aspiring for Perspicacity
Never
;P
Qwerty, this may remind you of peaches, but it reminds me of onion rings. Deep, crunchy, soft onion rings.
See, I'll tell you why this piece is like onion rings.
The deep, warm part is the love, the memories, and caring shared in your writing.
The crunchy, delicious part are the simply stunning, beautiful details.
And the soft part is put right at the end. When it says, "I love you."
♦♦♦♦♦♦who.am.i-
This is really powerful.
I really like the first paragraph, in the parentheses, because I feel like it leads in to the rest of the piece. Perhaps it's why you're thinking of this specific person.
I love your use of specific, sort of "everyday" details like : "We never got to finish Pineapple Express." I think it's the way you utilize the importance of the little things that gives this piece some of its emotion. The way you remember those little things.
Really, really nice job.
Thank you all very much. To
Thank you all very much.
To me, this piece is like dark wood and chocolate chips. But maybe that is because these are my memories of N?
Yes, he's real. Sorry, Qwerty. And thanks to all.
who.am.i